


In Another Universe

by serenascampbell



Series: In Another Universe Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 64,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenascampbell/pseuds/serenascampbell
Summary: The entire series, as they were, except the night of the Potters' death, Sirius had been with Remus and had been persuaded not to go after Peter ... so he never went to Azkaban.





	1. The Boy Who Killed You-Know-Who

Sirius and Remus Lupin-Black, of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, were proud to say that they were outstandingly individual, thank you very much. They were the first people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they simply thrived upon such fascinations.

Sirius was head auror at the Auror Office, which enforced wizarding law. He was a stocky man with hair as untamed as his limbs, though he groomed a rather large moustache. Remus was gangly and pale and had agility beyond compare, which came in very useful as he spent so much time rushing around and trying to keep the house in order, tidying Sirius' mess. The Lupin-Blacks had a small adopted son called Harry and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Lupin-Blacks had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone find out the truth about Harry. Harry was the son of James and Lily Potter, though they were no longer alive, because they, along with their infant son Harry, had been as outstandingly individual as it was possible to be. The Lupin-Blacks shuddered to think what the Ministry would say if they knew the true whereabouts of Harry Potter. The Lupin-Blacks knew that Harry was in danger in more ways than one, but they were determined to keep him hidden from the magical world until he came of age. They didn't want Harry mixing in a world like that.

When Sirius and Remus woke up on on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening on their doorstep. Sirius hummed as he picked out the same brown tie for work and Remus chattered away happily as he settled a grumbling Harry into his high chair. None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Sirius picked up his briefcase, pecked Remus on the cheek and planted a kiss on Harry's forehead goodbye, dodging a flying bowl of mashed pumpkin that Harry had tossed across the room playfully. 'Just like James,' sniggered Sirius as he left the kitchen. He flooed to the Ministry and arrived in his office.

It was on his first job of the day, tracking Antonin Dolohov, that he noticed the first sign of something strange - Kingsley asked how Harry was doing. For a second, Sirius faltered before swiftly responding that he hadn't heard anything from the muggles Harry was staying with. Kingsley had a glint in his eye that worried Sirius, but when he responded easily, Sirius couldn't help but wonder. Why had he been so paranoid? It must be all the bad feelings going around these past weeks, he shook it off and proceeded with his work. As he went on he thought of nothing except the long list of Death Eaters he was hoping to arrest that day.

But when they arrived in Surrey, Death Eaters were pushed to the back of his mind by something else. As he started patrolling the area, he couldn't help but notice the way his colleagues were behaving. Behaving as though they knew something he didn't. Sirius couldn't bear being kept in the dark, not about anything at all. Sirius tried to ignore the feeling in his gut, but his ears fell on the quiet conversation of Alistair and Kingsley in the next room. They were whispering cautiously to one another. Sirius became increasingly concerned when he heard them mention the name Potter, and he tried to focus on their words before he was distracted by a rattling of a cupboard doorknob across the room, his mind returned to deatheaters.

Sirius always kept his focus on whomever he was trying to accost. If he hadn't, he might have heard the continued whisperings of his colleagues all the through that morning. They couldn't seem to think about anything else. Sirius, however, had a perfectly normal, Potter-free morning. He caught two different deatheaters. He made several important communications with the Ministry and led to the arrest of some more. He was in a rather good mood until they returned to the Ministry and he ventured to the staff canteen in search of food.

He'd forgotten all about the whisperings of his colleagues until he passed a table of aurors that quietened as he passed. He drew in a sharp breath and focused on getting something to eat. They returned eagerly to their conversation as soon as he was out of ear shot. It was on his way to sit at the table next to them that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

'The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard -'

'yes, their son, Harry -'

Sirius stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked at the seat he was about to take before shaking his head and dropping his meal into the bin before returning to his office.

He dashed upstairs, told his colleagues he wasn't to be disturbed, and slammed his door shut before reaching for the floo powder with the intent to call home when he changed his mind. He dropped the powder back into the pot and ran his fingers through his hair, thinking … no, he was being stupid. Remus wouldn't let the boy out of his sight. He was sure there was plenty of explanation for the entire Ministry of Magic to be talking about his adopted son. They were on the cover of the Daily Prophet this morning after all. There was no point in worrying Remus, he always got concerned for Harry's safety. Sirius couldn't blame him - he was worried too.

He found it a lot harder to focus on his work that afternoon, and when he left the building at five o'clock, h was still so worried that he walked straight into the Minister of Magic.

'Sorry,' he mumbled, as Millicent Bagnold stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Sirius realised quite who it was he had walked into. She didn't seem too concerned with having been almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, her face split into a wry smile and she uttered in a considerately cheery voice that startled Sirius a little: 'Don't be sorry, my dear Mr Black, nothing could possibly go wrong today! Be glad, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even as we grieve, we must celebrate this happy, happy day.'

And she patted Sirius charmingly upon the shoulder before walking off.

Sirius stood rooted to the spot. He had just spoken to the Minister of Magic, though he couldn't be sure why. He was rattled. He hurried back into his office and flooed home, hoping he was dramatising things, which he had never hoped before, because he had spent his entire life disputing his reputation as a drama queen.

As he arrived in the living room of Grimmauld Place, the first thing he saw - and it didn't improve his mood - was a Ministry owl. It was sitting on the window sill. He wasn't interested in whatever it was trying to deliver.

'Shoo!' said Sirius loudly.

The owl didn't move. It just tapped its foot impatiently. Were owls usually this persistent, Sirius wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he yanked the letter from the bird's beak before venturing into the kitchen, the envelope tucked in his jacket pocket. He was still determined not to mention anything to Remus.

Remus had had a nice, normal day. He told Sirius over dinner all about Alice and Frank's young boy and how Harry had learnt a new word ('Muggle'). Sirius tried to act normally. When Harry had been put to bed, he went into the living-room hoping to read the Daily Prophet:

'Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is under Ministry protection and his location is not to be disclosed. Although he is the hero of the wizarding world, nobody has heard news of the boy since he was confirmed alive. The Ministry have yet to release a statement.' The photo inset was of James and Lily with their son, it had only been taken a few weeks ago. 'What are the ministry hiding?'

Flipping the page, the next article read: 'The Boy Who Lived: Dark Forces At Work? Experts at the Ministry have been unable to explain how a mere infant could survive the Killing Curse. This boy is obviously more than a regular young wizard, and the Ministry ought to be concerned.'

Sirius sat frozen in his armchair. Questions about Harry's whereabouts? Accusations of dark magic? Whisperings throughout the ministry? And what Kingsley had asked earlier, about how Harry was doing …

Remus came into the living room carrying two cups of butterbeer. It was no good. Sirius would have to say something. He cleared his throat nervously. 'Er - Remus, love - you haven't heard anything about Harry today, have you?'

As he had expected, Remus looked startled and worried. After all, they had vowed never to mention Harry to the outside world.

'No.' Remus said bluntly. 'Why?'

'Strange stuff at work today,' Sirius mumbled. 'About James and Lily … about Harry … and everyone was acting strangely around me today …'

"So?" questioned Remus.

"Well, I just thought … maybe … somehow somebody had found something out about … you know … where he is."

Remus sipped his butterbeer through thin lips. Sirius wondered whether he dared tell him about what Kingsley had asked. He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, 'There's no way anyone else could've known about this, is there?'

'No, of course not.' said Remus dryly.

'Peter didn't know, did he? James didn't tell him?'

'No, Lily told him not to. Said we could only trust Dumbledore.'

'So Dumbledore knows?' asked Sirius, heart sinking horribly. 'Well that seems reasonable.'

Was he making false assumptions? Could all of this be down to Dumbledore? If it did, if they'd been betrayed - well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Lupin-Blacks got into bed. Remus fell asleep quickly, but Sirius lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if Dumbledore did know, there was no reason for him to betray the Lupin-Blacks. Dumbledore knew very well that they would do whatever was best for Harry … he couldn't' see how Albus might see an alternative. He yawned and turned over. It wouldn't change anything …

How very wrong he was.

Sirius might have drifting into an uneasy sleep, but he was rudely awoken by the sound of the floo downstairs. He shot up quickly, grabbing his wand before padding slowly out of the bedroom and across the landing. He didn't so much as quiver when he heard the clearing of someone's throat, nor when he saw the living room light turned on as he made his way down the stairs.

Entering the room, he saw the familiar stature of Minerva McGonagall, so calm and confident as though she had been invited. Sirius' wand twitched in his hand as he lowered it slightly.

Minerva hadn't been to the house in weeks, not since the last order meeting before James and Lily went into hiding. She was tall, thin and steadily ageing, judging by the streaks of grey in her hair. She was wearing long robes, an emerald cloak which swept the carpet and high-heeled buckled boots. Her green eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind square spectacles and her nose was short and button-like.

Minerva didn't seem to realise that she had just arrived in a house where everything from her name to her boots was unwelcome. She was busy rummaging in her cloak, looking for something. But she did seem to realise that Sirius was less than happy to see her. For some reason, the expression on Sirius' face seemed to amuse her. She chuckled and muttered, 'Ever the host, Sirius.'

She had found what she was looking for in her inside pocket. It seemed to be an envelope. She brandished it, held it out in front of her and glanced expectantly at Sirius. When he didn't take the letter, she rolled her eyes and nodded, almost expectantly, at his hostility. Mcgonagall slipped the envelope back inside her cloak and took a seat in the armchair.

'I know you weren't hoping to hear from me, Sirius.'

She lifted her head to smile at the young man, but he had gone. Instead she was smiling at a rather severe-looing Remus who was wearing a set of pinstripe pyjamas and a tired expression. His light brown hair was untidy. He looked distinctly ruffled.

'What can we do for you at this time of night, Minerva?' Remus asked.

'My dear Remus, I think you know.'

'I think we both know that your being here is a problem.' said Remus.

'It is the only way, Remus. We must talk, or the entire wizarding world will talk for us.'

'The entire wizarding world?' He scoffed impatiently. 'You'd think they'd be a little more considerable, but no - even the Ministry have let lose to celebrate. It's in the Daily Prophet.'

He jerked his head towards the mantel where a photo of him, Sirius, James and Lily stood proudly. 'Celebrating the death of You-Know-Who as if it means we have no reason to grieve. Dedalus Diggle sent us an invitation to his party today, the cheek of that man.'

'You can't blame them.' Minerva said gently. 'We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.'

'I know that,' said Remus sharply. 'But that's no reason to pretend people aren't still suffering. People are being downright careless, pretending nobody died at all!'

He threw a coarse glance towards Minerva though he couldn't hold it as Sirius entered the room with the three tankards of butterbeer, handing them around before settling across from the witch. 'A fine thing it'd be, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, people pay their respects to those who died to make it happen. I suppose he is really gone, Minerva?'

'It certainly seems so,' said McGonagall. 'We have much to be thankful for. Now, perhaps we should talk about why I'm really here.'

'Yes, we should,' answered Sirius coldly, as though there was nothing he would like less. 'So, Dumbledore told you -'

'My dear Sirius, Lily told me. With all this nonsense about confundus charms, she thought it best to rely upon someone less … likely to be targeted.' Professor McGonagall hesitated, both men understood her reluctance to doubt Dumbledore. 'It would have been far more dangerous to tell him than me.' 'I have never seen any reason to tell anyone.'

'I know you haven't,' said Professor McGonagall, sounding half-exasperated, half-admiring. 'But you need people. Everyone in the Order knew that you were determined to do everything without help from anybody else.'

'You flatter me,' said Sirius sarcastically. 'The word you desire is stubborn.'

'Only because you hate to burden those you love.'

'It's lucky Remus is here. I haven't been so tempted to embrace a woman since Lily told me she agreed I was handsome.'

Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes and said 'The rumours are nothing to the truths that will be exposed. You know what people are saying? That the boy's to be kept in Azkaban until he's of age? That he's to be treated like a danger to our world?'

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting until the middle of the night to speak to the two men. It was clear that whatever concerned her most, she was not going to let it go until she had been reassured. Sirius and Remus, however were sipping their beverages casually and did not respond.

'What they're saying,' she pressed on, 'is that the boy must have used dark magic to protect himself. That Lily and James had used dark charms to keep him safe.'

Sirius arched an eyebrow almost unbelievingly at Minerva. She let out a heavy breath in relief.

'I knew … it wouldn't be anything like that … but a plan needs to be made … Remus, please see reason.'

Remus reached across the gap between them and patted her knee reassuringly. 'I know … I know we do …' He said reluctantly.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. 'That's not all. Albus is entertaining the idea it's true. He's saying that good people do desperate things, and he believes that Harry needs to be kept away from the magical world. We have to keep him in the dark, I am willing to lie. Lily entrusted the boy's safety to the three of us, but, are the both of you?'

'Is there any question.' Sirius uttered without hesitation.

'So, he will be told that the boy is staying with Lily's muggle sister?' questioned Professor McGonagall. 'After all he's done … all the people he has helped … how could he stoop to doubting those in the Order? It's unbelievable … of all the things to shake his faith … but how will we keep him in the dark?'

'We can only do our best,' said Remus. 'We may fail, but we must try.'

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Remus gave a great sniff as he caught sight on the clock on the mantel. It was a rather special clock; a gift from the Weasleys. It had six hands but no numbers, instead, place names lined the edge. It made perfect sense to Remus, though as he rose from his seat and said, 'Harry's awake. I suppose I'd best check on him, shall I?'

'I'll go,' said Sirius. 'You stay here with Minerva, talk more about the plan.'

'Are you happy to raise the boy, both of you, Remus?' Minerva asked, as Sirius padded up the stairs to check on the infant.

'There's no question of him going anywhere else. We're the only family he has.'

'You're certainly right about that; I went to see those Dursleys and they are utterly dreadful. They're the worst kind of mugs. Harry couldn't possibly live there.'

'And that is why …' Sirius began, as he re-entered the room with a gurgling little boy in his arms. 'he won't be.'

'But how will we keep him hidden?' questioned Professor McGonagall faintly, leaning back in the chair. 'He'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today is known as Harry Potter Day in future - there will be books written about Harry - every child in our world will know his name!'

'Exactly,' said Sirius, looking very seriously towards her. 'We will disappear. We won't be the only ones, plenty will. He cannot be famous, not before he's strong enough to defend himself. He will grow up away from it all, until he's ready.'

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed and then said, 'Yes, yes you're right, of course. But how will you explain your disappearance to the Order … to the Ministry?' She eyed the infant cautiously as she spoke.

'That's where you come in.'

'You think it - wise - to entrust the task to one person alone?'

'There is nobody more reliable.' said Sirius.

'Flattered as I am, Sirius,' said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, 'do you really think me capable to it?'

A low gurgling had broken the quiet of the room. It grew steadily louder as they looked, all three of them, towards the small boy in Sirius' lap; it swelled to a wail as the infant's face reddened.

If the boy was slight, his size could not be compared to the noise emerging from him. He was barely the length of Sirius' forearm, barely more than a stone heavy. Remus rose without reluctance and slipped out to the kitchen to bottle a feed before returning and passing the milk to his husband. The boy taking the bottle readily in his own two hands and suckling eagerly as his wails subsided.

'The wee bairn,' said Minerva, with a warm heart. 'He hasn't a clue.'

'Nor will he,' Remus interjected calmly, his hand resting on Sirius' shoulder as he spoke. 'We will make sure that he remains clueless until he is ready.'

McGonagall leant forward to eye the boy gleefully. Amongst the bundle of blankets, was a gleeful and red-faced young child. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped scar, like a bolt of lightning.

'Is that where -?' whispered Professor McGonagall.

'Yes,' said Sirius. 'He'll have that scar for ever.'

'Won't it make him … more noticeable, Sirius?'

'Perhaps, but not in the muggle world, not where we're going. Well, if that's all Minerva, we've got packing to do, and you've got a rumour to spread.'

Remus took Harry in his arms and stood to take him back to his crib.

'May I - if I'm not to see the boy again for a decade?' asked Minerva.

Rising from her chair, she crossed the take the boy in her arms. Then, suddenly, bit back a meager whimper.

'There, there, Minerva. It's best this way.' Remus offered with a wry smile and a pat of her upper arm.

'Sorry,' sniffled McGonagall, blinking back tears. 'I can't bear to think of it - Lily and James dead - and poor young Harry hidden from the world he saved -'

'It's dreadful, but it's the only way forward.' Sirius added softly as he gingerly took a hold of the boy and drew back. He watched as the boy drifted easily to sleep, tucked comfortably in his godfather's arms. For a full minute, the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Minerva's cheeks dampened, Remus smiled wryly and the familiar mischievous smirk residing on Sirius' face seemed to falter.

'Well,' said Minerva finally, 'that's that. We've no business dragging it out. We may as well get on with what we have to.'

'Yeah.' said Remus in a slightly softened voice. 'We'd best get to packing. G'night Minerva.'

Drawing in a deep breath, Remus exited the room silently.

'We'll send news as often as we can, which won't be often at all, I expect, Minerva,' said Sirius, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall bit her lip in reply.

Sirius straightened up and walked towards the door frame, pausing to watch the woman cross to the fireplace and take a handful of floo powder. She drew in a deep breath, caught one last glimpse of the young boy who would soon be a legend, and cast the powder down beneath her feet before uttering 'The Three Broomsticks'.

'Good Luck Harry,' she murmured. Stepping out into the empty pub before exhaling heavily.

A chill ruffled the curtains of 12 Grimmauld Place, even with the windows closed, and this would be the most noise the house would host for some years. Harry Potter rolled over inside his crib without waking up. One small hand closed on the blanket his mother had made for him and he slept on, not knowing she was gone, not knowing his life was a disaster waiting to happen, not knowing he would be taken from his crib in a few hours time by his godfather as they left their home for the very last time, nor that he would never see the peculiar lady from downstairs again. He couldn't know that at this very moment, he was preparing to be hidden from a world where people all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices 'To Harry Potter - the boy who killed You-Know-Who.'


	2. The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since the Lupin-Blacks had woken up and left Grimmauld Place for the last time, and an awful lot had changed. The sun rose on their small, tidy front garden - as tended by Remus - and lit up the brass number 8 on the cottage's front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been at Grimmauld Place when Sirius had learned the fateful news that they would have to go into hiding. Only the photographs on the walls showed how things had changed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of a beautiful baby boy giggling and smiling, surrounded by family - but Harry Potter was no longer a baby and now the photographs stood still as statues, no sign of life behind the glass of each frame. The room held no sign at all that magic resided in the house.

Yet magic was still there, hidden from the world, but not for long. Remus was awake and it was his grumbling voice that forced out an incantation as he struggled with the muggle technology in front of him.

'Arresto Momentum!' Harry woke with a start to the noise in the kitchen. His godfather tapped on the bedroom door gently.

'Up you get, Harry. Come help Remus with the kettle, please.' Harry heard Sirius walking towards the kitchen and then the sound of a mug smashing to the ground. He rolled onto his back and tired to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a lady in emerald robes in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.

Sirius was back outside the door.

'Are you awake, Harry?' he enquired kindly.

'Nearly,' said Harry.

'Well you might want to save some of the kitchenware, Remus is making a right mess in there! We've got to get going soon if we want to get to the park on time.'

Harry rolled his eyes before grinning.

The wildlife park trip - how could he have forgotten? Harry hopped out of bed and pulled on the first pair of socks he could find. They were plain, black and just a little too long for him; he slipped them over his feet, nevertheless. When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath dirty, half-used pots and pans. It looked as though Remus had already burned two batches of bacon, not to mention the eggs that he'd tried to fry in a saucepan. Exactly why Remus bothered trying muggle cooking was a mystery to Harry, as Remus was a highly skilled wizard that didn't have any reason to use muggle means unless he was in public.

Perhaps it had something to do with all the running around after his fathers, but Harry had always been skinny for his age, no matter how much he ate. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all of his time was spent with Sirius, who was rather stocky and broad-shouldered, and Remus who was as tall as it was respectable to be in the Muggle world. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair and bright-green eyes. He wore round glasses that had been bought at the Muggle optician because they couldn't risk going into the magical world, not yet. The thing Harry liked most about his appearance - despite being told on a daily basis that he was the spit of his father - was a very thin scar on his forehead which was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember and the first question he could ever remember asking Sirius was how had got it.

'We'll tell you the story when you're old enough,' he had said. 'We can't tell you much about that, not yet, just trust us.'

Trust Sirius and Remus - that was the first rule for a happy life.

Remus re-entered the kitchen from the pantry as Harry threw some more rashers of bacon into the only remaining frying pan in sight.

'Harry, do try and do something with your hair please. You're getting as bad as Sirius,' Remus chided as he planted a kiss on the crown of Harry's untidy head.

For years, Remus had taken Harry to get his hair cut every couple of weeks, more frequently than any muggle barber thought necessary, but it made no difference, that was simply how his hair grew - just like James' - and eventually Remus had given up trying to tame it.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Sirius settled at the kitchen table beside his husband. Sirius hadn't aged at all. He was very good-looking; his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance, though he allowed Remus to persuade him it was too long from time to time and had it cut short. Remus said that Sirius looked aristocratic - Harry often said that Sirius looked like a rocker he'd seen in one of those muggle magazines.

Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Sirius, meanwhile, was reading through a brochure. His face fell.

'Golden Guernsey Goats,' he said, looking up at Remus. 'They didn't have those last time.'

'Darling, you aren't still scared of goats, are you? You've no reason to be.'

'All right, but if I get mauled, I'm blaming you.' said Sirius, a rising pink in his cheeks. Harry, who could see the rising anxiety in Sirius' face, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible so they could get going.

Remus obviously scented worry too, because he said quickly, 'And we'll just avoid that enclosure. How's that, love? Won't go anywhere near them. Is that all right?'

Sirius nodded without hesitation, the relief visible on his face as he glanced over at a wildly grinning Harry. He ruffled Harry's hair and said, 'We're going to have a brilliant day, goats or not, I guarantee it.'

At that moment the telephone rang and Remus went to answer it while Harry and Sirius chattered about all of the animals they were hoping to see today. Harry was enthusing about the meerkats when Remus came back from the telephone, looking a little confused.

'Next door, Sirius,' he said. 'Going to the Maldives and they want us to look after their cat.' He turned his head curiously in Harry's direction.

Sirius seemed indifferent but Harry's heart gave a leap. He loved next door's cat, all cats in fact, but he had never been able to have one because they made Remus sneeze. Whenever he could, Harry would make excuses to go round to the next cottage over simply so he could see the tabby.

'We can't say no,' said Sirius, looking hopefully towards Remus as though he too wanted the cat to come and stay. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Remus would have to feel unwell. but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself that he would have the cat around the house for at least a few days.

'No, I don't suppose we can.' Remus reasoned.

Harry saw the wavering in his resolve and allowed a grin to sneak over his face as he rose to take his plate to the dishwasher.

'I'll do that, Harry, you go and get ready.' Sirius offered as he stood up and stacked some pans on top of one another before dumping them, still full, down in the dishwasher.

'Or maybe you should leave that to me, and you can go and sort everything out so we're ready to leave as soon as I'm done,' he suggested, biting back a laugh as pulled the stack back up onto the counter.

Remus rolled his eyes as he tried to tidy his mess up before seeing the look on Harry's face and deciding to give up. The two men left Harry alone in the kitchen to sort things out, which Harry didn't mind - he would only have to clean up after them if they tried, and they went out to work everyday to earn money so it was only fair that he did what he could around the house. And even so, he loved them, and the look of disappointment on Remus' face when he failed to do a menial muggle task was enough that Harry made sure he never tried again. Cooking was fine because he wasn't very good at that magically, but it was when he couldn't get rid of a spider in the bathroom without nearly breaking the poor thing in two that things became heated.

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was sat in the back of Sirius' car with his two fathers sat up front. The two of them had been promising him this trip for weeks, ever since Harry had done so well in his SATs.

'You deserve a treat,' Sirius had said, placing his hand upon Harry's shoulder, 'We just want to give you a good day out because, well things are going to start changing soon.'

'I know, Sirius, I know what happens when I turn eleven.' said Harry, 'really …'

The problem was, Harry didn't know, not really, because Sirius and Remus had never been in a position to tell him everything and all Harry really knew was that he was magical.

Once, Sirius, feeling like a tease, had prepared an entire roast dinner (using magic, of course) when Harry was going through his anti-vegetable phase. He had piled the boy's plate so high with greens that Remus couldn't stop sniggering for a good few minutes. When they sat down to eat however, all of the greens Sirius had piled onto Harry's plate were on his own. He laughed so hard that he didn't even notice Harry wolfing down slices of beef fast as he possibly could.

Another time, Remus had bought a frying skillet to show off his muggle cooking abilities, only to set the house on fire. Harry, at only 5 or 6, had blown out the blaze with one big puff and Sirius didn't let Remus forget it for weeks afterwards.

On the other hand, he'd got into quite a lot of trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. A couple of boys at school had been chasing him, when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Lupin-Blacks had been called into speak to the headmistress, which they hadn't been most pleased about. However, when Harry told Sirius what had really happened, he ruffled the boy's black hair and walked down the playground with him, careful to make very intense eye contact with the boys in question. Suffice to say, they didn't chase Harry anymore.

But today, there would be no magic. It was not worth ruining such a wonderful day, no matter how much his fathers would tell him that it wasn't his fault and that it wasn't something he could properly control.

While he drove, Sirius waffled on to Remus. He liked to waffle about meaningless things: muggles, sport, kettles, the neighbours, and tax were just a few of the things he liked to waffle about. This morning, it was motorbikes.

'Driving along like the kings of the road, hell's angels,' he said in awe, as a motorbike overtook them.

'Didn't you used to have a motorbike,' said Harry, recalling the story. 'Couldn't it fly?'

Sirius smiled fondly at the memory as he continued to follow the road. He caught Harry's gaze in the rear view mirror and said to Harry, the corners of his eyes creased as he grinned. 'Yes, I did. It was a gift from James and Remus actually.'

Remus grinned warmly.

'I remember you telling me,' said Harry. 'That's how to came and got me when I was a baby.'

It was a very sunny Saturday and the wildlife park was crowded with families. Sirius and Remus bought Harry a large chocolate ice-cream at the entrance. It was incredible, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gibbon scratching its head. Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time. He was clinging closely to his guardians, dragging them enthusiastically from one enclosure to the next. They ate in the park restaurant and when Harry had finished his meal, Sirius bought him the biggest knickerbocker glory he had ever seen.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in here, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Remus wasn't the biggest fan of snakes, so he stayed back from the glass. Sirius, however, was utterly enthralled with them and stood with his nose pressed against the glass curiously.

'Don't you think it's wonderful?' Sirius offered as he kept his eyes focused on the snake.

After a minute, Sirius shuffled away to the next enclosure but Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom - no family to keep hm company. It must be utterly dreadful to be stuck in one place, with nobody you know. The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's. It winked.

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see that neither Remus nor Sirius was looking. They weren't. He looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head towards Sirius and Remus, then looked intensely at Harry with a look that said quite plainly: 'I envy you.'

'I know,' Harry murmured, through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. 'It must be horribly lonely.'

The snake nodded vigorously.

'Where do you come from, anyway?' Harry asked. The snake jabbed it's tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it. Boa Constrictor, Brazil. 'Was it nice there?'

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in captivity. 'Oh, I see - so you've never been to Brazil?'

As the snake shook its head, Harry was shoved aside a huddle of boisterous young boys who pressed their noses against the glass abruptly. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened - one second, the boys were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harry sat up and gasped: the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out on to the floor - people throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits. As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could've sworn a low, hissing voice said 'Brazil, here I come … Thanksss, amigo.'

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

'But the glass,' he kept saying, 'where did the glass go?'

The park director himself made Remus a cup of strong sweet tea while he apologised over and over again. Remus took a while to calm down, even once they got back to the car, but eventually he was relaxed enough to say, 'What brought that on, Harry, something must have?'

Harry took a moment to decide whether he should tell Sirius and Remus about being able to speak to the snake, but he'd never heard either of them mention being able to talk to animals so he decided against it. Just in case. Instead, he make the excuse that it was the shock of being knocked aside by those boys. Eventually they made it home, after an hour's drive filled with reassurances that it wasn't his fault and that nothing had gone wrong.

Harry retreated to his bedroom later, wishing he could push time forward so he could understand everything. He didn't know enough to be able to control his magic, while made his life an awful lot more difficult.

He'd lived with the Lupin-Blacks almost ten years, ten brilliant years, as long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had been killed. He couldn't remember much about his parent's death. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours when he couldn't sleep, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was how it had happened, though he couldn't be certain of the details. He couldn't remember much of his parents. Sirius and Remus spoke about them often, and of course they answered all of his question about them. There were even a few photos on the walls, but he couldn't remember them.

When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed about how his parents had been royalty and that's why he'd been taken into hiding after their death. But nobody knew him, nobody apart from Sirius and Remus. Except very occasionally, strangers would recognise his scar in the street. Some would be pleased, others would look appalled and shocked. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Sirius. After nodding pleasantly towards the man, Sirius had tugged Harry by the hand away from the man quickly and hurried him out of the shop. A wild-looking old woman dressing in all green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had turned and hurried in the other direction at the mere sight of Harry. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way Sirius and Remus seemed so wary of them, no matter how pleasant they were.

Harry had Sirius and Remus, and that was all he needed.


	3. The Letter From The Lady in Emerald

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor was certainly the most notable piece of accidental magic Harry had done. By the time he had really forgotten about it, it was the summer holidays and Remus had broken three more mugs, Sirius had been forced to confund his boss so he didn’t lose his job, and the neighbours were back from the Maldives. 

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping the ever-nearing nature of his eleventh birthday. Sirius and Remus checked the mail every single day, the second it dropped through the letterbox, only to settle at the breakfast table with a relieved expression. Sirius would often have to give Remus a reassuring kiss on the cheek just so that he could go on with his day. 

This was why Harry spent as much time as possible trying to be as normal as possible, trying to teach himself not to do any accidental magic though he failed. He was supposed to be going off to secondary school in September, but Sirius and Remus had explained that when everything changed, he wouldn’t be going to muggle school anymore, he’d be going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. One day, Remus had walked in on Harry struggling to make his way through Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them. Sitting down at the foot of the bed, he grinned and patted Harry’s calf lovingly. 

‘It’s only a few more weeks and then we’ll be able to tell you everything, okay?’ he uttered softly. 

‘I know, Remus, I understand that you’re doing this for all of us.’ Harry responded. 

The rest of summer was quiet, Sirius worked four days a week while Remus worked the other three. Harry spent all of his time around the house, reading all about the magical world in the almost certain knowledge that his eleventh birthday would bring him out of hiding. He read every book on magic that he could find, of which there were a lot since Remus had started training to be a professor before he and Sirius had taken Harry. And still, every morning when the post came, whichever of the men was closest would hurry, quick as they could, to the front door and rifle through the envelopes. Every day, they would let out a breath of relief before going on with their days. 

One morning, Harry had been walking from his bedroom to the kitchen when the post came through the letter box and he was almost tackled to the ground by an over eager Sirius. Having fallen to his knees in his hurry, Harry watched his godfather skim over addressee of each letter swiftly before a look of dread fell upon his face. 

‘Moony, it’s here,’ said Sirius as he stood up and made his way towards the kitchen with Harry, hot on his heels. Flopping back in the seat at the head of the table, Sirius dropped the pile of letters with the one in question on top. 

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. The address plainly read: 

Mr H Potter  
The Smaller Bedroom  
8 Langworth Cottages  
The Lake District  
Cumbria

Remus turned over the envelope, placing it down again with trembling hands. Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter ‘H’.

‘Harry, this is yours, you can open it yourself,’ said Sirius, rising from his seat. ‘I need to contact Minerva.’

Reluctantly, Harry reached out and picked up the envelope before carefully peeling away the seal and drawing out the parchment inside. He was at the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when he heard Sirius start talking in the other room. Returning his attention to the letter, it read: 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY 

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore   
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc, Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr Potter,   
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.   
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. 

Yours sincerely, 

Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

As he mulled over the letter, Harry’s eyes fixed on the name of the sender. He lifted his gaze to meet Remus’ and said, ‘Sirius is speaking to the Deputy Headmistress … why? I thought nobody was supposed to know where I was until i turned eleven.’

‘Minerva is the only one who knows. We will explain all of this to you properly at some point, but you will be meeting Minerva soon. She will probably come today if she can get away from Hogwarts,’ said Remus. 

After a few minutes of reading the letter over and over again, Harry placed it down on the table. Sirius walked back into the room having finished his conversation, with a look of relative ease on his face. 

‘She will be here within the hour,’ stated Sirius as he returned to the table and took his seat. Reaching across the table, Sirius took his husband’s hand in his own and held it tightly. 

Harry wasn’t sure why they were suddenly so worried. They had known this was coming for an awful long time, ten years in fact, but nevertheless, they were. Harry had learned that when either of his parents were worried, he ought to be too, so a cautious expression rested on his face as they waited for the arrival of the deputy headmistress. 

Forty minutes passed and there was a loud thud in the living room. All three of them rose from the seats and followed into the front room where they were met by an older, slimmer Minerva McGonagall. It had been almost ten years since she had seen them last and she had to restrain herself from reaching to hug the men who had, last time she saw them, still been boys. 

Recognising the old lady as the one that often cropped up in his dreams, Harry clung to Remus’ back as they entered the room. 

‘Minerva,’ greeted Sirius.

’Sirius … Remus … young Harry,’ Minerva responded. 

Each of them settled quietly into the seat closest to them, no need for the niceties of a cup of tea or a glass of water. Harry’s Hogwarts letter was still sat on the kitchen table, though suddenly he felt the urge to keep it close. Minerva cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the two men, though Harry had already been focused intently upon her. 

‘As you are all well aware, we are going to have to be strategic in returning Harry to the magical world. We have to form a consensus on who will know the truth, and who will believe only the story that they already believe to be true. Obviously some people are already far too aware of where he has really been all these years, but what’s left of You-Know-Who’s supporters are still in the dark as far as we know,’ said Minerva. ‘We can’t parade the fact around, but it’s going to be quite difficult to hide once the school year starts.’

‘I still think it best to keep Dumbledore out of this if we can, it’s not that I don’t trust him but he’s already a target,’ Sirius reasoned. 

Harry was busy inspecting the witch’s attire. She was wearing emerald green robes and a pointed hat like the ones in muggle fairytales. Her eyes were hidden by behind square spectacles that sat low on her nose and glistened in the low light of the room. 

He didn’t bother listening to their conversation properly, he knew he could rely on Sirius and Remus to make whatever decision was best for all of them so he chose not to worry himself with it. Allowing his mind to wander instead towards happier territory, he thought about Hogwarts. He thought about being surrounded by people just like him, who knew who he was and wanted to be friends with him. He thought about spending time with people other than Remus and Sirius, wonderful as they were. He thought about learning things that actually interested him rather than stupid long division like Miss Matthews taught. 

‘Harry,’ Sirius prompted as he pulled the boy back towards reality. ‘Are you listening?’

‘You are to consult either me, or one of your guardians, before you tell anybody the truth. We don’t know for certain that you will be sorted into my house, but I’d put a few galleons on it. Either way, I’ll still be easy enough to find around the castle,’ said Minerva. This was the first time she had directly addressed the boy since she arrived. ‘And you gentlemen must explain everything or you put the boy at greater risk than ever.’ 

‘We know, Minerva, we were just leaving it for as long as we could.’ Remus conceded. 

Harry realised that he wasn’t actually eleven yet. Admittedly, he wouldn’t start at Hogwarts until September, but still it felt strange that he had spent all this time preparing for one day in particular, and here it was a week earlier than expected. Before long, Minerva announced that she had to leave as she had other first year families to speak to, but that she expected to see them again before term began. 

Watching as she crossed the room, Harry saw the lady draw a handful of powder from a pocket in her robes and stoop down to crouch inside of the fireplace. With one swift moment, she threw the powder down and yelled, ’The Burrow’. There was a sudden flash of great, green light that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine as the shade felt a tad too familiar to him. It was the same green that filled his memories of his parents’ death.


	4. Happy Birthday Harry!

The following week was filled with questions at every turn; not just at dinner but at breakfast and lunch and occasionally in the middle of the night. It was Wednesday evening at almost midnight that Harry padded down the hallway and knocked gently on the master bedroom door. 

‘Come in,’ said Sirius almost immediately. 

Harry nudged open the door and poked his head around it to see the light still on, the two men sat side by side in bed. Sirius was reading a motorcycle magazine. Remus had his nose buried in a copy of a muggle book called New Moon that Harry didn’t recognise. 

‘I give up with this book. It’s all nonsense and myth that has no real validity in the world,’ grumbled Remus before slamming it shut and shoving it on to the bedside cabinet. ‘What’s up, cub?’

‘How did my parents die?’ Harry asked matter-of-factly. ‘I know they were killed by some dark wizard, but … who was he?’

’Some witches and wizards like believe they’re better than others because they have magical blood. They believe witches and wizards with muggle blood shouldn’t be allowed to practice. The dark wizard who killed Lily and James was one of them,’ Remus began, settling back to tell the story. ‘Your parents fought on the side of the light, against this dark wizard … his name was Vol-’ he stumbled over his words. 

‘He was called Voldemort,’ Sirius interjected. ‘and your parents died fighting against him. The miracle is that you survived … you’re the only person who has ever survived the killing curse, and you did it at the hands of one of the most powerful wizards of all time …’ he paused to look at the alarm clock beside him, ‘you are the most incredible eleven year old in the world. Happy Birthday!’

‘Happy Birthday Harry,’ added Remus warmly as a grin breached the boy’s cheeks. ‘Now perhaps back to bed, and your interrogation can proceed at breakfast.’

Harry nodded happily before bouncing out of the room and slipping back to bed. It wasn’t until 7 hours later that he woke and hurried downstairs to find Remus juggling a stack of pancakes as he tried to weave around Sirius. In the middle of the breakfast table stood a cake stand. On it stood a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in green icing. It was obvious from the scruffy handwriting that Remus had made it himself, though he was eager to admit it anyway. 

‘Cup of tea for the birthday boy?’ Sirius offered as he used magic to boil the kettle. 

Harry glanced between the two men, both busying themselves with the perfect breakfast. He meant to say thank you, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth and instead what he said instead was, ’You baked without setting the cottage on fire?’

Sirius chucked heartily while Remus simply rolled his eyes. 

‘Yes. I know it’s hard to believe but between the pair of us we do have some basic capabilities,’ replied Remus, rubbing the boy’s shoulder warmly as he took the seat beside him. 

Harry was wearing simple, blue, pinstripe pyjamas and had his bare feet tucked up underneath himself at the table. His eyes fell on the stack of pancakes settled in front of him and his stomach emitted a noise that could only be compared to that of a lion. Reluctantly, the small boy lifted his knife and fork, and started to busy himself with the consumption of as much of the syrup-doused monstrosity as he could.

Inside of his head, there were a million questions exploding like fireworks and he struggled to decide which one to ask first. This is what it had been like ever since the professor lady had come, and he’d been told he was allowed to know everything, all of the years of wondering simple little things like how people found out they were magical were over and he could ask about anything he wanted to. Even though he was allowed to question everything now, sometimes he tried to be a little sensitive and avoided difficult topics where he could. 

‘How come wizards don’t have primary schools?’ Harry enquired through a mouthful of his breakfast, swiping the syrup that slipping on to his chin away. 

Before he could receive an answer, an owl flew through the open kitchen window. The bird was white, with brown flecks across its underbelly. It settled on the window sill and waited patiently as Sirius approached and took the envelope from its beak. As though it was in a hurry, the owl quickly stepped back and flew out of the window, leaving no hint that it had ever been there besides the letter which now rested in Sirius’ grip. 

The envelope appeared to be made from the same heavy, yellowed parchment of Harry’s Hogwarts letter, though the crest on the back was not a purple coat of arms; instead it was red with a lion’s head above a letter ‘G’. Without even looking at the addressee, Sirius tore it open and plucked out the contents to hold at arms’ length … it was a card. On the front was a gold ball with feathery wings, and it read, ‘Have a Golden day!’

Pursing his lips slightly, Sirius passed over the card to his godson and took a step back to lean against the sink. Harry carefully ran his fingers over the front of the card, tracing the slightly embossed illustration before flipping open the card and reading, 

‘Dear Harry,   
Happy eleventh birthday!

Hope you have a wonderful day,   
Minerva McGonagall’

Harry was surprised to have received a birthday card from this woman he had only met once, as well as perhaps when he was a baby, but nevertheless he was grateful for it. Normally, the only people he got cards from were Sirius and Remus, and occasionally the couple next door. 

Smiling softly to himself, Harry stood the card up on the table in front of him and nodded before taking another mouthful of his pancakes. 

’That’s another thing, how do owls know where to take letters? It’s not like they can read the address,’ Harry enquired, too enthralled by this newly explorable world to fixate on one thing for any amount of time. Sirius and Remus shared a glance as they recognised the curiosity they had once seen in those same green eyes, in a muggleborn girl who had wanted to understand everything. 

Remus took a sip of his tea, a shadow of a smile gracing his expression and said ‘Harry, today … we’re going to Diagon Alley.’


	5. Diagon Alley

After gorging themselves at the breakfast table, both Harry and his guardians slipped off to get ready for their shopping trip. Sunlight streamed through every window in the cottage and Harry near blinded himself when he drew back his bedroom curtains. Slipping on the simple walking boots that he generally wore whenever he left the house, Harry grabbed his Hogwarts letter from where it had been sitting at his desk since the day it arrived. Sirius and Remus were both wearing rather strange clothes, more similar to those of the lady who had come to visit than their day-to-day attire. 

‘Best be off then, pup. Merlin knows how busy it’s going to be today, and we’ve probably got an awful lot to buy,’ said Sirius. 

’Um - Sirius?’ began Harry, feeling as the thought in his mind started to turn his mood a little sour. ‘Have we got enough money to be buying lots of things for Hogwarts. I know you and Remus haven’t been getting as many hours at work.’

‘Oh, don’t you worry about that,’ reassured Sirius, ruffling Harry’s mop of hair. ‘Do you really think your parents left you without a penny? It’ll just mean a quick trip to Gringotts … that’s the wizarding bank.’

‘Wizards have banks?’ 

‘Of course we do, Harry! We’re not neanderthals,’ interjected Remus as he joined them at the front door. ‘Gringotts is the safest place in the world for anything you want to keep safe. Don’t you worry about any of that. Let’s get going.’

Harry followed the two men out to the car. The sky was clear and the sun beamed down on the wide expanses of grass surrounding the cottages. The three of them got into the car and started the journey to London. 

The drive was strenuous. Sirius got easily annoyed when people drove too fast, or too slow, or not precisely as he wanted them to. It was a balancing act between trying to keep the conversation flowing, and not rocking the boat too far as to frustrate him further. Even as they followed the motorway, Harry was still brimming with questions … things that he wanted to understand in case someone said something at Diagon Alley that he didn’t understand. 

‘How come Gringotts is so safe?’ 

‘There are spells and enchantments protecting every vault, everything’s done by the goblins … they run it because they don’t care about money so they’d never try to steal it. Some people say the high security vaults use dragons, or other magical creatures, but nobody can know for sure. And the entire place is so huge that you couldn’t find anything, even if you did get in,’ explained Remus, realising that they would soon be in London. ’Shall we park the car outside and then get the train in, you know how much of a nightmare city driving can be.’

Sirius was eager to pull into the first car park he saw, pleased to find that the nearest train station was only a couple of minutes’ walk down the road. Harry followed the pair closely, hot on their heels as they made their way into the train station and bought tickets to London Kings Cross. It was leaving in five minutes. 

People stared on the train, though they tried to pretend they weren’t. It wasn’t surprising with Remus and Sirius dressed so strangely, and the muggle world still seemed to have their doubts about same-sex relationships. Remus thought it ridiculous, that muggles claimed to be so progressive and forward-thinking, yet they couldn’t accept something so harmless and simple. Instead of dwelling on it, Harry busied himself and started to read the list of required equipment, it said: 

‘HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Uniform  
First-year students will require:  
1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for daywear  
3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)  
Please note that all pupils’ clothing should carry name tags

Set Books  
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk  
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot  
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling  
A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch  
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore  
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander  
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other Equipment  
1 wand  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS’ 

Harry had never been to London before. Although Remus seemed to know where he was going, he was by no means used to it, and he seemed rather close to investing in a leash to keep Sirius on so that the man couldn’t any real havoc. They travelled across London, walking down street after street lined with music stores and clothes stores, but nowhere that looked like it would sell a magic wand. Harry still doubted that all of this was real sometimes, despite having grown up surrounded by it. He still worried sometimes that he wasn’t magical, or that he wasn’t magical enough. 

‘Here we are,’ said Sirus, coming to a halt. ‘The Leaky Cauldron.’

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Sirius hadn’t pointed it out, Harry wouldn’t have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn’t glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn’t see The Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he and his guardians could see it. Before he could mention this, Remus had steered him inside. 

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old barman, who was quite bald and looked like a gummy walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to recognise Sirius and Remus, their jaws dropped just slightly, and the barman reached for a glass, saying, ’Sirius Black, as I live and breathe. And Remus Lupin, too. What can I get you, boys?’

‘Sorry, Tom. We’re in a bit of a hurry, getting the kid his school supplies,’ uttered Remus, planting his hand on Harry’s shoulder reassuringly. 

‘Good Lord. Is this - can this be - ?’ Tom uttered, peering at Harry. The eyes of every man and woman in the room was still trailing on the group. ’Bless my soul! It’s Harry Potter!’ 

So much for keeping it quiet, thought Harry. Tom hurried out from behind the bar, rushed towards the boy and seized his hand, tears in his eyes. 

‘Welcome back, Mr Potter, welcome back.’

Harry didn’t know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realising it had gone out. Sirius had a weak smile on his face. Then there was a scraping of chairs and, next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in The Leaky Cauldron. 

‘Doris Crockford, Mr Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.’  
‘Always wanted to shake your hand - I’m all of a flutter. I was loyal to the Potter name all these years.’  
‘Delighted, Mr Potter, just can’t tell you. Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.’

‘I’ve seen you before!’ said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle’s top hat fell off in his excitement. ‘You bowed to me once in a shop.’ 

‘He remembers!’ cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. ‘Did you hear that? He remembers me!’

Harry shook hands again and again - Doris Crockford kept coming back for more. A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching. 

‘Quirinus Quirrell, class of ’75.’ said Sirius, a hint of contempt in his tone. ‘In professor’s robes, I see.’

‘D-Defence Against The D-Dark Arts, Mr. Black. S-S-Starting this year!’ said the man, looking down to Harry and grasping his hand. ‘Can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you, P-Potter.’

Neither Remus nor Sirius seemed eager to keep the conversation flowing, and the rest of the pub were unwilling to let Quirrell snatch the boy’s attention. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Sirius managed to make himself heard over the babble. 

‘Lovely to see you all but we really must be going, so much to do. Come on, Harry.’

Doris Crockford shook Harry’s hand one last time and Sirius guided them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a dustbin and a few weeds. Remus grinned at Harry. 

‘We told you that you were famous. Everybody knows your name.’ Sirius turned to show a smile. ‘Can’t believe they’ve given Quirrell a job at Hogwarts, I must say.’

’Is he always that … nervous?’ 

‘Yeah, he used to a right little know-it-all at school. Thought he was better than everybody else, loved to be the centre of attention. He got into some trouble with a bunch of Slytherins, who didn’t take kindly to him thinking he was better than them, and he hasn’t been the same since. Scared of everything now, even the students. Nevermind, Dumbledore wouldn’t have hired him if he wasn’t up to the job,’ explained Sirius as he drew his wand, counting the bricks in the wall above the dustbin. 

‘Three up … two across …’ he muttered. ‘Right, stand back, Harry.’

He tapped the wall three times with his wand tip. The brick he had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle, a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - a second later they were facing a large archway on to a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight. 

‘Welcome,’ said Sirius, ‘to Diagon Alley.’

He grinned at Harry’s amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall as Remus stepped away from it. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible said a sign hanging over them. Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, ‘Dragon liver, sixteen sickles an ounce, they’re mad …’

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry’s age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. ‘Look,’ Harry heard one of them say, ‘the new Nimbus Two Thousand - fastest ever -’ There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels’ eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon … 

‘Gringotts,’ said Remus.

They had reached a snowy-white building which towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was - 

‘That’s a goblin,’ explained Sirius, walking up the white stone steps and past him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them: 

Enter, stranger, but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn,  
So if you seek beneath our floors,  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware,  
Of finding more than treasure there. 

‘As I said, safest place in the world.’ said Remus. 

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors, and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins on brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Sirius made for the counter with Remus and Harry following behind him. 

‘We’d like to make a withdrawal from the vault of Mr Harry Potter,’ said Sirius to the free elf. 

‘You have his key?’ asked the goblin. Sirius brandished a tiny golden key and set it down on the counter matter-of-factly. The goblin looked at it closely before nodding. ‘Griphook!’

Griphook was yet another goblin. Harry followed closely behind his guardians as Griphook took them towards one of the doors leading off the hall. The goblin held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downwards and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They climbed in - crammed closely together with Remus almost sat on Sirius’ lap - and were off. 

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, left, right, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn’t steering. Harry’s eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of the passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor. He’d learned about them in science last year. 

Remus looked very green and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, he got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees trembling. 

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of bronze. It was incredible. 

Sirius gathered a large heap and dropped it into his pocket, explaining, ‘Undetectable extension charm. I’ll carry it so you aren’t lugging it about in those muggle pockets.’

‘The gold ones are Galleons,’ began Remus. ‘Seventeen silver sickles to a galleon and twenty-nine bronze knuts to a sickle.’

Turning around, the three of them followed Griphook back to the cart and squeezed back in. As they sped back up to the ground, Harry struggled to believe that so much had happened … he’d just found out he was rich! The journey back up wasn’t particularly enjoyable for Remus, and as he was guided back to the large, marble hall, he paused to lean against a wall. 

Harry busied himself with looking around the room. At one of the counters was a very tall, giant of a man with his face almost hidden behind a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard. He was enormous, easily more than ten foot tall and built like a brick wall. His voice boomed through the hall despite his apparent efforts to be quiet, he said, ‘Vault 713, Hogwarts business.’ Harry’s curiosity was nipped in the bud when he was corralled towards the great, silver doors by a recovered Remus. 

‘Might as well start with your robes,’ said Sirius, stepping outside and nodding towards Madam Malkin’s Robes For All Occasions. ‘Remus, did you still need to go down Knockturn for your potion ingredients?’

Remus slipped away to get whatever he needed and Sirius took Harry to the robe shop. Once inside, they were greeted by a squat, smiling woman dressed all in mauve.

‘Hogwarts, dear?’ she began, before Harry could speak. ‘Got the lot here - another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.’

Sirius took a seat by the door which Harry followed Madam Malkin to the back of the shop. A young boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the right length. 

‘Hullo,’ said the boy, ‘Hogwarts too?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry. 

‘My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,’ said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. ‘Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.’

Harry was strongly reminded of the boys at school that used to pick on him.

‘Have you got your own broom?’ the boy went on. 

’No,’ said Harry.

‘Play quidditch at all?’ 

‘No,’ Harry said again, having only heard Sirius mention it once or twice. 

‘I do - Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?’

‘No,’ said Harry, struggling to remember all of the houses from when Remus had explained them the other day. 

‘Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?’

‘Mmm,’ said Harry, trying not to think about how similar this boy sounded to the dark wizards his godfather had warned him about. 

‘Who’s that man you brought with you?’ asked the boy curiously, glancing towards the front of the shop. Sirius sat there, lost in thought. 

‘That’s Sirius,’ said Harry, unsure if the rule about not telling anyone still stood. ‘He’s my godfather.’ 

‘Oh,’ said the boy. ’Sirius Black, I thought he died in the war …’

‘Nope, still live and kicking,’ Harry drawled. 

‘Well,’ the boy changed the subject. ‘How come he’s with you? Where are your parents?’

‘They’re dead,’ answered Harry shortly, uninteresting in discussing the topic with the boy. 

‘Oh, sorry,’ apologised the boy, not sounding sorry at all. ’But they were … our kind, weren’t they?’

‘They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean.’

‘I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?’ But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, ’That’s you done, my dear,’ and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool. ‘I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose.’ 

As Sirius guided him out and the two of them walked over to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, Harry remained quiet. 

‘What’s up, Malfoy giving you trouble?’ asked Sirius as they sat down at a table and waited for Remus, who was not stood in the queue, to join them. ‘Don’t pay any attention to him.’

‘He was talking like … that wizard you said killed my parents. He was saying only the old wizarding families should be allowed at Hogwarts. He was awful.’ said Harry. ‘I know you and Remus told me that there isn’t a bad house but he wants to be in Slytherin, and you already said that You-Know-Who was in that house.’ 

‘There are good Slytherins too, though I won’t deny they’re hard to come by.’ said Sirius. 

‘We can introduce you to Andromeda and Ted if they’re still alive. They were wonderful people, Slytherin or not. Slughorn was a brilliant teacher, he retired the year the war ended though,’ added Remus as he joined them at the table with a small bowl of ice cream in front of him. ‘The point is, you’ll be brilliant no matter where you end up, so you can stop worrying about it.’ 

Florean Fortescue approached the table and said, ‘I’m so sorry, sirs, I didn’t realise who you were. What can I get you? On the house, of course!’ 

‘Really, we’re fine thank you, Mr. Fortescue. We’d best be going to get the rest of Harry’s things,’ Sirius replied with a grin of familiarity as he licked clean his spoon and rose from his seat. Remus wolfed down the rest of his own before standing, and Harry followed the pair of them out of the shop and down the street. 

They bought Harry’s school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelve were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stoves bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. 

Remus wouldn’t let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron because it was a waste of money apparently, but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of rotten eggs and cabbage. Barrels of slime stood on the ground, jars of herbs, strings of fangs and claws hung from the rafters. While Remus asked the man behind the counter for a supply of the first-year ingredients, Harry examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one galleons each and minuscule black beetle eyes at five knuts a scoop.

As they stepped out of the apothecary, Remus turned to Sirius and said, ‘Shall I go to Eeylops and get Harry’s birthday present or do you want to?’

‘It’s probably best if you go, they still don’t like me since I accidentally let that snowy loose in fourth year, I’m not sure they’ve forgotten,’ reminded Sirius, watching the memory light up in Remus’ eyes as he laughed. ‘We’ll meet you in Ollivanders after you’re done,’ and then turning to Harry, ‘Come on, pup, let’s go get you a wand.’

The shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling golden letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. 

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which Sirius sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallow a lot of new quesitons which had just occurred to him and looked instead at the hundreds of narrow boxes piled haphazardly right up to the ceiling. The very dust in here seemed to tingle with some sort of magic that made Harry shiver. 

‘Good afternoon,’ said a soft voice. An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moonlight through the gloom of the shop. ‘Ah, Sirius! Sirius Black. Pine, twelve and a half inches, supple, wasn’t it? I hope it’s treated you well …’

‘It certainly has, Mr. Ollivander,’ Sirius responded kindly as he rose to approach the counter with Harry close beside him. ‘That’s why there’s nowhere else I would bring my boy for his first wand!’ 

‘Ah, this must be Mr Potter,’ Ollivander began, reaching across the counter to swipe aside Harry’s fringe and gaze intently at the scar. ‘I’ve been expecting you, it felt like the time was coming. You have your mother’s eyes. It feels like only yesterday I was serving Lily Evans her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches. Willow. Swishy.’ 

The old man edged closer to Harry, and the boy struggled to break his gaze and blink. 

‘Your father however, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. I say he favoured it, but the wands chooses the wizard, of course,’ said Ollivander, so close to Harry now that they were almost touching. His silvery gaze returned to the lightning scar. ‘I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Yew. Thirteen inches. Far too powerful in the wrong hands. I suppose …’

Sirius cleared his throat loudly, filling the room with his deep timbre and shaking the old man back into reality. He plucked a long tape measure with silver markings along it from his pocket and let it unravel to the floor. 

‘Hold out your wand arm. That’s it,’ said Ollivander, measuring every inch of Harry in every which way. As he measured, he explained, ‘Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.’

Harry suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. 

‘That will do,’ he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. ‘Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just give it a wave.’ 

Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once. Wand after wand, and Ollivander still wasn’t satisfied. Sirius had to duck at one point as Harry shattered the crystal raven beside him explosively. It was uncertain what exactly Ollivander was expecting to happen, and the pile of tried wands was growing taller on the spindly chair. Even as he glanced at it, Harry had a growing concern that there wasn’t a wand for him, and Sirius noticed it. 

‘Now, don’t you worry. There is a wand here for you, even if it takes all day to find it.’ Sirius reassured as Ollivander handed over another wand. 

As he took hold of it, Harry felt a warmth in the tips of his fingers that filled his insides. He gave a simple swish and from the tip emerged an array of red and gold sparks that filled the dull room. Pride covered Sirius’ face, while wonder glistened in the old man’s eyes. 

‘Curious, very curious,’ murmured Ollivander. ‘Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches and supple.’

Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. 

‘I’m sorry but what’s curious, sir?’ 

‘I remember every wand I’ve ever sold. Every single wand, and it so happens that the phoenix who gave a feather for your wand, also gave another. Your wand has a brother, Mr. Potter. And it was the wand that gave you that scar.’

‘We really need to get going and find Remus now, Harry. Give Mr Ollivander your money,’ Sirius prompted eagerly, trying to speed up the conversation. Harry handed over the seven galleons on the old man and said goodbye before stepping outside with his godfather close behind him. 

Remus bumped into them in the street before they all headed back, through The Leaky Cauldron, through London and then all the way back to the cottage. In one month’s time, they would be driving back to London for Harry to catch the train to Hogwarts. The time was drawing in, and everything had changed, just as Sirius had told him it would.


	6. The Journey From Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is REALLY similar to the original, except no Scabbers ! I promise there's a reason for that which will be later revealed !

Harry's last month at the cottage was anti-climactic. He read all of his school books and asked as many questions as he could think of, but he didn't really leave the house, and every day was spent waiting for the end of the month. Arguably, he understood everything a lot better now, and he knew why they'd been hiding from the magical world all these years. This was an improvement in some ways, though it did lead to a lot of impatience after a while.

Harry clung to Remus and Sirius as much as he could, eager to spend as much time arounds wizards as he could … as though perhaps he could learn something by osmosis alone. Harry's new owl was beautiful and snowy, and he had decided to call her Hedwig, a name he had found in A History of Magic. Every night, before he went to bed, Harry ticked off another day on the calendar stuck to the front of the fridge, counting down to September first.

'Right, we'll be leaving at 6o'clock sharp in the morning because the train leaves at 11,' said Remus as they all sat in the living room, the muggle news on the television. 'We're trying to keep your living situation under wraps if at all possible, so you'll be going to the platform alone. We'll take you to the station and explain how to get onto the platform but being seen in front of all those people together probably isn't the safest idea for anyone.'

'Minerva sent your ticket this morning, but we'll look after it until the morning, alright?' interjected Sirius, shifting himself slightly on the sofa as though the arm he had tucked around Remus' waist was going numb. 'You might want to get an early night, tomorrow will be pretty exhausting for you.'

He stood up to go upstairs when Remus spoke.

'You're going to have a great time there, you'll make your bonds for life,' reassured Remus, leaning forward and grabbing Harry by the arm to pull him down on to the sofa. Harry buried his face in Remus' arm with a wide grin as he felt his godfather stretch an arm across his back and squeeze him tight. 'You're going to make us so proud.'

Harry broke away after a minute or two, his hair ruffled by Sirius, and padded upstairs to turn in for the night. He knew he wouldn't sleep much, his brain was whirring with thoughts and feelings that wouldn't settle, but he tried.

The next morning, they left at 5:58 precisely after having loaded Hedwig's cage and his massive trunk into the back of the car. The journey seemed to take forever, and Harry was getting antsy after only half an hour in the car. Sirius and Remus could tell that he was just eager to get there, and they were relieved to see that he was so excited.

They reached King's Cross at just after half past ten. Sirius hoisted Harry's trunk on to a trolley and helped him take it to the door.

'I'm sorry, Harry but we can't go in … it's too much of a risk of being seen. Here's your ticket,' said Sirius, handing over a ticket about the size of a ten pound note. 'To get to the platform, you have to do something a little bit insane, but you're going to have to trust me. Run directly at the wall between platforms nine and ten. I know how ridiculous that sounds, but it's a gate on to the platform, hidden from muggle. Hopefully, there'll be plenty of families rushing through and you can ask one of them for help if you really need it. You should get going or you'll be late. See you at Christmas, pup.'

Harry buried his head in Sirius' torso for a moment before pulling back, knowing that he wouldn't want to let go otherwise. Remus, knowing his emotions would get the better of him, had said his goodbyes in the car, so Harry simply gave him one last wave before pushing his trolley through the automatic doors of the station.

As he hurried anxiously across the station, he stopped dead between platforms nine and ten, facing the wall in question. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He was scared this was one of Sirius' practical jokes.

'-packed with muggles, of course-'

Harry turned his head to see a plump woman, talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them were pushing a trunk like Harry's - and they had an owl. The family stopped only a few metres away from Harry and he paused as the middle-aged woman continued to talk, saying, 'Now, what's the platform number?'

'Nine and three quarters!' piped the young girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand. 'Mum, can't I go -'

'You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first.'

What looked like the oldest boy marched towards platform nine and ten. Harry watched, careful not blink so he didn't miss it - but just as the boy reached the wall, a swarm of tourists came in front of him, and by the time the last rucksack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

'Fred, you next,' the plump woman said.

'I'm not Fred, I'm George,' said the boy. 'Honestly, woman, call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?'

'Sorry, George, dear.'

'Only joking, I am Fred,' said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done, because a second later, he had gone.

Now the third brother was walking briskly towards the barrier - he was almost there - and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere. There was nothing else for it.

'Excuse me,' Harry said to the plump woman.

'Hullo, dear,' she said. 'First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too.'

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet and a long nose.

'Yes,' said Harry. 'The thing is - the thing is, I'm a bit nervous to -'

'To go through the barrier?' she prompted, receiving a timid nod. 'It'll be fine. Just walk straight at the barrier and don't think about crashing or you're more likely to, do it at a bit of a run if you're scared. Go on, quickly now, before Ron.'

Without another word, he pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid. Harry started to walk towards it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. He walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that ticket box and then he'd be in trouble - leaning forward on his trolley, he broke into a heavy run - the barrier was coming nearer and nearer - he wouldn't be able to stop - he closed his eyes ready for the crash.

It didn't come - he kept on running … he opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people and a sign overhead read Hogwarts Express, 11o'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway with the words Platform Nine and Three Quarters on it.

Smoke from the nine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats wound here and there between their legs, owls hooted to each other over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. The first few carriages were packed with students, some hanging out of windows to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his trolley down the platform in search of a vacant seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, 'Gran, I've lost my toad again.'

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd as he lifted the lid of a box in his arms and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the back of the train. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and tug his trunk towards the door, he tried to lift it but could barely raise one end and twice dropped it painfully on his foot.

'Want a hand?' It was on of the red-haired twins he'd followed through the barrier. 'Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!'

With the twins' help, Harry's trunk was, at last, tucked away in the corner of the compartment. Harry thanked them both, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes as their jaws dropped in synchronisation and they both hurried away without another word.

Harry flopped down next to the window, where, half-hidden, he could see the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying.

'Where's Percy?' asked the boy's mother.

'He's coming now.'

The oldest boy came striding into view. He had already changed into his billowing black robes an Harry noticed a red and gold badge on his chest with the letter 'P' on it.

'Can't stay long, Mother,' he said. 'I'm up front, the prefects have two compartments to themselves.'

'How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?' said one of the twins.

'Because he's a Prefect,' said their mother proudly. 'All right, have a good term - send me an hour when you get there. Fred, George, behave this year. If I get one more owl telling me you've - blown up a toilet or-'

'Great suggestion, Mum, we hadn't thought of that before!' replied one of the twins. 'Don't you worry - we'll behave ourselves and we'll look after little Ronniekins.'

Harry zoned out, resting his head back against the back of the seat and thinking about home. He could survive being away from the cottage without any trouble at all, it would be nice to actually be near so people. His key concern was missing Sirius and Remus, though they'd explained that's why he had the owl, to write to them as often as he wanted. It was only a few months, but he'd never spent a night away from either of them before, not since they went into hiding anyway. They'd told him that everything was going to change but he was scared things might change too fast.

The train started moving. Harry refused to dwell on his worries and instead looked out of the window, watching as the train sped up and they rushed, first past proud parents and then by blurred buildings.

The compartment door slid open to the youngest of the red-headed boys, poking his head in and saying, 'Do you mind? Everywhere else is full.'

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked.

'Are you really Harry Potter?' Ron blurted out, receiving a confident nod in response. 'And you really have the - y'know?' Harry pulled aside his fringe to show the lightning scar. Ron started for a few moments, as though he didn't realised he was doing it before suddenly snapping his eyes towards the window again.

'Are all your family wizards?' asked Harry, just as curious as Ron seemed.

'Erm- yes, I think so,' said Ron. 'Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we don't talk about him. I heard you went to live with muggles, what was that like?'

'Well I- not exactly,' Harry stuttered, wondering what to say. 'I was living with wizards but we lived in the muggle world and they only used magic when they had to. So I've seen a little bit, but nowhere near as much as you must have with four magical siblings.'

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the Malfoy boy had been talking about in Madam Malkin's.

'Six,' said Ron. 'You could say I've got a legacy to uphold. Bill and Charlie have already graduated - Bill was Head Boy, Charlie was Quidditch Captain. Percy's a Prefect, everyone loves Fred and George even if they do mess around, and Ginny's already really smart and she's only ten. You're expected to do well, but if you do then it doesn't matter anyway … so you grew up on your own then?'

'Well my godfather and his husband adopted me and they raised me, I went to muggle school but I never met anyone magical apart from then until … I went to Diagon Alley,' uttered Harry, he'd almost said when Minerva came to speak to Sirius and Remus.

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were racing past fields full of corn and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, 'Anything from the trolley, dears?'

Harry, who hadn't had a chance to grab any breakfast, leap to his feet, but Ron's ears went pink again and eh muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Remus had tried to keep him healthy in his youth, though Sirius would allow him the odd treat while his husband was at work. He had pockets full of gold ad silver and he was ready to buy as many Mars Bars as he could carry - but the woman didn't have Mars Bars. What she did have are Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans, Droobles Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands and plenty more strange things Harry had only heard his godfather mention in passing. Not wanting to miss anything, he bought some of everything before handing over some money and returning to the compartment where he tipped it all on to an empty seat.

Ron scoffed at him as he drew a lumpy package from his pocket and unwrapped it. Inside were four sandwiches, grimacing slightly, Ron said, 'She always forgets I don't like corned beef.'

'Swap you for a pumpkin pasty,' Harry offered, handing one out to the boy. 'Go on, have one …'

Harry, who had never really had any friends to share treats with, enjoyed the feeling of sitting beside Ron as the pair of them ate their way through everything he'd bought, the sandwiches forgotten.

'What are these? My godfather told me about them once but I don't really remember,' Harry asked as he picked up a chocolate frog and started to remove its packaging.

'It's not the frogs you want, they're just enchanted chocolate. It's the cards that are important, you collect them - famous witches and wizards. I've got about 500, only need Agrippa and Ptolemy then I've got the full set, I reckon.'

Harry unwrapped the frog and picked up the card. It showed an elderly man's face, he wore half-moon glasses, had a long crooked nose and flowing silver hair, beard and moustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore. Even in the muggle world, living in a house with two wizards, Harry had certainly heard the name Dumbledore though he wouldn't have recognised him from the photograph. He overturned the card and it read:

'Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times. Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.'

Ron had busied himself eating another of the chocolate frogs but as he opened more packets, Harry couldn't keep his eyes off the cards. By the end of the train journey, he had Dumbledore, Morgana, Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus and Merlin. And in the last one of all, he found the druidess Cliodna.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone, Now there were words, twisting rivers and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry had passed on the platform came in, looking tearful. He asked if either of them had seen his toad, and when he got a negative response, backed away miserably.

After only a minute, the toadless boy was back, but this time was a girl accompanying him. She, again, enquired about the toad. The girl had a bossy sort of voice, lots of brown bushy hair and rather large front teeth.

'I'm Hermione Granger,' she introduced herself, looking contemptuously at Ron, sat with chocolate around his mouth, before outstretching her hand to Harry and meeting his own with a firm shake.

'Ron Weasley,' Ron mumbled as he swallowed down the remnants of the last pumpkin pasty. 'And this is Harry Potter.'

'Is it really?' she said in astonishment, perching at the edge of the seat opposite them. 'I know all about you. You're in quite a few of the books that I bought for extra reading. Do either of you have an idea what house you'll be in? I've been asking around and I think Gryffindor sounds best, though I think I'd settle for Ravenclaw. Anyway, I'd better go help that boy Neville find his toad. You two should really change into your robes, we'll be arriving soon.' And she left to find the toadless boy.

'Whatever house I end up in, I hope she's not in it,' grumbled Ron.

'What house are your brothers in?' asked Harry curiously. Sirius had explained that everyone in his family was a Slytherin aside from him. And everyone in Remus' bloodline had been a Gryffindor. Did houses always run in families, he wondered.

'Gryffindor, so were both my parents. I don't know what they'd say if I was, I suppose I'd be alright in Ravenclaw, maybe even Hufflepuff, but I'd be disowned if I ended up in Slytherin,' complained Ron, trying to change the subject. 'Charlie works with dragons in Romania, and Bill works in Africa for Gringotts, I think I might like to work at the Ministry, that's where Percy'll end up for certain …'

The compartment door slid open, interrupting Ron's train of thought. In walked three young boys, one of which was the Malfoy boy from Madam Malkin's. He stood at the front, with the two stockier, less intelligent looking grunts stood at each shoulder.

'Is it true? Everybody on the train's saying that you're Harry Potter,' enquired Draco, eyebrow arched.

'Yeah,' Harry responded abruptly.

'Well, this is Crabbe and Goyle,' he indicated to each of the boys with a nod as he said their names, 'and I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.'

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Malfoy looked at him.

'Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask what yours is - red hair, freckles, and hand-me-down robes, you must be a Weasley,' Draco seethed bitterly. 'You'll find out that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to end up mixing with the wrong sort.'

Draco extended his hand to shake, but Harry didn't take it and instead, responded coolly, 'I can think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.'

The rising tension in the room was broken by the train coming to a sudden stop. They had arrived. The two scrambled to change into their robes as soon as Malfoy and his friends had left the compartment.

As they slipped out into the busy corridor, Harry followed Ron's lead and the two of them hopped off the train and on to the busy platform. The pair of them were shivering in the cold night air. Then a lamp lit the cramped area and a booming voice that felt vaguely familiar called, 'Firs- years this way, firs- years t- the boats!'

Following the crowd of bustling new students down the platform and out onto a narrow path that eventually widened out, Harry caught sight of the castle he could only assume was Hogwarts. In front of them was a great black lake, and on the other side of it, at the top of a mountain, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. Harry recognised the booming voice as that of the giant from Gringotts. The huge man guided everyone towards a small fleet of boats tied to the shore, and ordered everyone to assemble in groups of four in the boats.

Harry and Ron ended up sharing their boat with Hermione and Neville. The boats began to move, gliding across the lake, smooth as glass, (probably an enchantment, thought Harry.) Everyone kept their eyes trailed on the castle as they sailed closer and closer to it.

The boats came to a tunnel, at the entrance to which was a curtain of ivy, and they were taken right underneath the castle.

'Oi, you there!' the giant yelled. 'Is this your toad?'

Dropping the creature into Neville's clammy hands and watching the boy's momentous reunion with his pet, the man spoke again, 'Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds. If he gets loose again, I'll be having words with yer 'ead of 'ouse.'

Without another word, they all followed Hagrid up a flight of stone steps and stopped at a large, oak door. The giant raised an enormous fist and knocked three times.


	7. The Sorting Hat

The door swung open at once. Minerva stood there in her emerald green robes with a very stern face. 

‘Firs- years, Professor McGonagall,’ said Hagrid. 

’Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.’ 

She pulled the door wide. The Entrance Hall was so big you could have fitted the entire cottage inside of it. The stone walls were lit with torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling too high to make out, and a grand marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. 

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagstone floor. Harry could hear the buzz of hundreds of voices through the thick wall to their right - the rest of the school must already be inside awaiting the ceremony - but Professor McGonagall showed the first-years into a small empty chamber. They crammed in, standing rather close together that they would usually have done, looking about nervously. 

‘Welcome to Hogwarts,’ said Professor McGonagall. ’The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you can take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. While you are here, your house will be like your family.’

Harry thought for a moment realising that everyone Sirius and Remus had ever mentioned liking was a Gryffindor like them. 

‘The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumph will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours,’ the tall witch continued. ‘The sorting ceremony will begin in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you smarten yourselves up while you are waiting. 

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed. 

Sirius had explained the sorting to him, but he couldn’t help but worry a little anyway. Everyone was shifting around anxiously, even the purebloods. Harry kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any moment now, Professor McGonagall would come back. 

Then something happened which made him jump about a foot in the air - several people behind him screamed. He gasped, as did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly white and transparent, they glided across the room, talking to each other and hardly glancing at the first-years. They seemed to be arguing. A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first-years. 

‘New students! About to be sorted, I suppose?’ said the Fat Friar, smiling around them as he received a few mute nods. ‘Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!’

‘Move along now,’ said a sharp voice. ’The ceremony’s about to start. Now form a line.’

Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall. He’d never even envisioned such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands upon thousands of candles which are floating over four long table, where the rest f the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first-years so that they came to a halt, backs facing the teachers’ table. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upwards to see a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars, just as Remus had told him … he’d also tried, and failed, to explain the enchantment to the young boy.

As Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years, Harry quickly looked down. On the stool, she put a pointed wizard’s hat. The Sorting Hat, Sirius had told Harry all about it but he still couldn’t believe that it was real. Everyone in the Great Hall was staring at the hat, as was Harry himself. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat began to sing. 

After the impressive performance had come to an end, the entire Hall burst into applause. 

‘All we have to is wear a bloody hat?’ hissed Ron to Harry. ‘Fred was going on about wrestling a troll, I’ll kill him!’

Harry smiled weakly. He was anxious, despite the fact, there was no troll to wrestle, and he couldn’t shake his worries. Sirius had told him all about hatstalls, and how sometimes the Hat could take ages to make a decision about which house you belonged in. But what if Harry didn’t belong in any of the houses? What if he wasn’t magical enough and he was going to be sent home because the Hat decided he didn’t belong anywhere? He’d been raised on stories of his father’s bravery and his mother’s brains, and Harry wasn’t sure he had either of those things. 

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. 

‘When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,’ she said. ‘Abbott, Hannah!’

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment’s pause - 

‘HUFFLEPUFF!’ shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw one of the ghosts waving merrily at her. He paid close attention as the sorting went on, watching people go off to each of the four houses. 

‘Granger, Hermione!’ 

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat onto her head.

‘RAVENCLAW!’ shouted the hat. 

The sorting continued and name after name was called to the stool, Harry focused intently as the hat made a decision for each head on which it sat. He was yanked from his considerations when Professor McGonagall called his name. As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly erupted like hissing coals all over the hall. 

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the Hall full of people craning to take a look at him. Next second he was looking at the inside of the hat. He waited. 

‘Hmm,’ said a small voice in his ear. ‘Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, certainly, and a thirst to prove yourself…so, where shall I put you?’

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought to himself, make them proud, make them proud.

’SLYTHERIN!’ called the hat without another moment’s thought, as though Harry’s own thoughts had condemned him. 

A hubbub of whispering filled the hall for a moment as Harry tugged the hat off and started to make his way to the Slytherin table. Then a roar of applause and cheering ripped down the Slytherin table as he took his seat and the girl sat beside him, just sorted herself, patted him on the back enthusiastically. Smiling at the surprising yet pleasant welcome, he smiled and turned to watch the rest of the sorting. Slytherin gained two more students - Sophie Rogers, and Blaise Zabini - while Ron got sorted into Gryffindor. Harry couldn’t help but be pleased for him, he clapped loudly which earned him some odd looks from the students surrounding him. 

As the Sorting finished, Harry’s attention was drawn to the High Table; in the centre, on a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. His silver hair was the only thing in the entire Hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry also spotted Professor Quirrell too, the jittery gentleman from The Leaky Cauldron. He was wearing a large purple turban that made him look very peculiar. 

Albus Dumbledore had got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms wide open, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. 

‘Welcome,’ he said, ‘Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!’

Harry turned his head back towards the table in confusion as the student body applauded the headmaster, now settling in his own seat. Looking at the dishes in front of him, now piled with food, his jaw dropped. Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chop, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire puddings, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and for some strange reason, mint humbugs. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the humbugs and began to at. It was delicious. 

A ghost, covered in blood, took a seat opposite Harry beside the slim, tan-skinned girl who he had watched be sorted into Slytherin after quite some moments of deliberation. The transparent man looked glumly at the banquet. 

‘Can’t you-?’ 

‘I haven’t eaten in nearly a century. Some days you just want to eat a chicken leg, and then you remember that it would fall straight through you,’ he grumbled before raising his head to face Harry. ’I’m the Bloody Baron, house ghost. Welcome to Slytherin! Hope you’ve all got your eye on the ball for the House Cup, we’re holding a winning streak of six years!’

As the ghost glided away down the length of the hall, Harry quietly observed the people around him. There was a lot of chatter though it was all centred around a particularly blonde boy with a voice that made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prick up. Draco Malfoy. 

The girl sat opposite extended her hand to Harry with a smile and said, ‘Daphne Greengrass, pleasure.’

‘Harry Potter,’ he replied as he shook her hand firmly, observing the lilt in her accent and wondering where she had travelled from to study at Hogwarts. Remus had assured him that it was the best wizarding school in the world, so it seemed only logical that people would travel from all over the place. ‘I’m from the Lake District, this is the first time I’ve ever really travelled anywhere else for more than a day, especially without my family. It all feels a bit strange, doesn’t it.’

‘I know what you mean. My Dad’s from Wales, and we’ve lived there ever since my sister and I were born. Mum’s travelled a bit, she went to Durmstrang - have you heard of it, it’s in Norway or something. She grew up in Iran and that was the closest school. So, I don’t think I can complain, she moved to a different country from her family and here I am worrying about a couple hundred miles!’ explained the girl casually as she raised a carrot to her mouth and ate it. ‘I’m just relieved I got sorted into Slytherin, I don’t know what Dad would’ve said if I hadn’t! How are your family about it?’

‘Well, my guardians were both Gryffindors but they’ve been telling me for weeks that they don’t care where I end up,’ Harry responded, very elusive in his answer. ‘I mean, I think considering my parents, everyone was expecting me to go to Gryffindor but, I’m just happy to be here at all, really.’

The conversation waned out as the pair both glanced around to see what everyone else was doing. When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, A moment later, puddings appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, jelly, rice pudding.

Harry helped himself to a treacle pudding, glancing over to the black boy that had been sorted last, he was chatting with an older student with a prefect badge enthusiastically, but before Harry could figure out what they were talking about, his attention was drawn to the black-haired, sallow-faced man sat at the High Table who seemed to be staring directly at him. Harry turned away swiftly as a pain ran through his forehead, right where his scar sat. 

‘Who’s that next to Professor Quirrell?’ asked Harry, directing it at Daphne though it was the short, pug-faced brunette girl beside him that answered, saying, ‘That’s Professor Snape. He’s Head of Slytherin, and he’s Potions Master.’

Harry turned back to watch Snape for a while but Snape didn’t look at him again. 

At last, the puddings too disappeared and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The Hall fell silent. 

‘First years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.’ 

There were a few sniggers through the Hall, but Harry had been brought up on Sirius’ tales of trolls and ogres, and Remus had made sure he understood the dangers of the wizarding world. 

‘And now, before bed, let us sing the school song!’ cried Dumbledore. The old man gave his wand a little flick and a golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself into words. ‘everyone pick their favourite tune, and off we go!’

Everybody bellowed out the lyrics, the majority of the noise coming from the centre of the room while voices were a little quieter on the Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables. After the song had finished, they were dismissed. 

The Slytherin first-years followed a girl called Gemma Farley through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall and down a long hallway. Harry’s legs ached with fatigue and overeating. He was too sleepy to pay attention to the portrait of a blonde woman yelling about mudbloods. Eventually, they reached a staircase, showing a steep descent deeper into the castle, and Harry carefully made his way down the steps. At the bottom of the stairs, there was another, shorter, corridor, and at the end of that was a dead end. 

‘Machiavelli,’ stated Gemma confidently, and a stone door appeared in the stretch of damp wall and slid aside. They all scrambled through and found themselves in the Slytherin common room, a neatly organised room with sofas lining the edge of it. 

Gemma directed all of the girls in one direction and all of the boys in the opposite, pointing them towards a door on either side of the fireplace. Through it was a short hallway with windows the size of the walls themselves, and outside of the windows was the Black Lake they had sailed over. At the other end of the hallway was an open door, and inside was the first-year dormitory. There were six four-posters bed hung with green velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought down. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed. 

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very horrible dream. He was in the Great Hall, everyone was there with their parents talking to them and Harry stood, looking around for Remus and Sirius. When they came into sight, he rushed towards them, slamming into Remus’ arms before feeling himself be pushed away. Sirius told him they were ashamed to see him sorted into Slytherin, told him his parents would be too, and Harry woke, sweating and anxious. He slipped out of bed and wrote a quick letter to his guardians, apologising for disappointing them, before ramming the envelope into Hedwig’s beak and letting her out of the window before slipping back into bed for a night of restless sleep.


	8. The Potions Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i realise the Hagrid seems a bit weird without the preface of having met Harry already but I had to work it in somehow ,,,

‘There, look, next to that black boy!’

‘Did you see his scar?’

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory next day. People queueing outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors, again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn’t, but Blaise Zabini - the black boy - and Daphne Greengrass had taken him under their wing. 

There were one hundred and forty-two staircases in Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn’t open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren’t really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember when people in the portraits kept going to visit each other. 

The ghosts didn’t help, either. The house ghosts would always do their best to help new first-years, and the Bloody Baron seemed to know every inch of the castle, but Peeves the school poltergeist was as two locked doors and a trick staircase if you bumped into him when you were late for class. Blaise had told Harry that he was likely to leave the Slytherins alone, owing to his innate fear of the Bloody Baron, which allowed Harry to relax a little. 

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry and Blaise had managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the way to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He refused to believe they were lost and had been threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Snape, who was passing and insisted it was too early on in the year to be taking points from first years. Filch owned a cat called Mr Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with bulging, lamp-like eyes just like Filch’s. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front her, put us one toe out of line, and she’d whisk off for Filch, who’d appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs Norris a good kick. 

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the lessons themselves. There was a lot more to magic than waving your wand and saying a few words, though Remus and Sirius often made it look that easy. 

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learnt how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and found out what they were used for. 

Easily the most boring lesson was History of Magic, which was the only class taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff-room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving him body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. 

Professor Flitwick, the charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a lie of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first lesson he took the register, and when he reached Harry’s name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. 

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been able to tell from Sirius’ demeanour around the woman that she wasn’t somebody to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they had sat down in her first class. 

‘Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,’ she said. ‘Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.’

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn’t wait to get started, but soon realised they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After making a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile. 

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defence Against The Dark Arts, but Quirrell’s lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelt strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he’d met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him. His turban, he told them, had been a thank-you from an African prince for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren’t sure they believed that story. For one thing, when Lily Moon asked eagerly how he’d fought off the zombie, Quirrell turned pink and started talking about the weather; for another, there was the strange smell coming from the turban, and Susan Bones said claimed her Aunt Amelia had heard about an investigation at the Ministry that had found out he’d left without doing anything about the problem. 

Harry was relieved to find out that he wasn’t miles behind everyone else. Plenty of people grew up as muggles and didn’t know a thing, and there was so much to learn that even pure-bloods who’d been surrounded by magic their entire lives were struggling. 

On Friday morning, the Slytherins made their way up to the Great Hall to eat breakfast.

‘What have we got today?’ Harry asked Daphne as he poured sugar on his porridge. 

‘Double potions with the Ravenclaws,’ said Blaise. ‘Everyone thinks that Snape favours us, but honestly, he’s just as strict on us as them most of the time. I’m not sure how long I’ll survive being compared to those know-it-alls.’

Just then, the post arrived. Harry was still a little surprised by the flurry of owls that streamed into the Great Hall at once, circling tables before dropping letters and packages onto their laps. 

Hedwig hadn’t brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped two envelopes onto Harry’s plate. He opened the first of the two, recognising Remus’ neat handwriting, it read: 

Harry, 

We couldn’t be prouder of you, no matter which house you were sorted into. Slytherin has produced some of the finest wizards of all time, and you will be one of them. Please don’t worry about disappointing us. Focus on your studies, and making yourself some good friends, and keep in touch as often as you like. We’ll see you at Christmas. 

Speak soon. 

Remus and Sirius x 

 

The second letter was a mystery. It merely said his full name, no address, and it was in an untidy scrawl he hadn’t seen before. Opening it, he read: 

Dear Harry, 

Hagrid here, the groundskeeper. Thought you might like to come down for a cup of tea around three? I know first-years get Friday afternoons and I’d like to hear how you’re settling in. I was a good friend of your parents, you see. Send an answer back with Hedwig, bring a friend or two if you like. 

Hagrid.

Harry borrowed Daphne’s quill, scribbled ‘Yes, please, see you later’ on the back of the note and sent Hedwig off again. 

Potions lessons took place down in the dungeons, close to the common room, and it was quite oddly decorated with cobwebbed jars and an eerie painting on the back wall. Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the register, and Snape, like Flitwick, paused at Harry’s name. 

‘Ah, yes,’ he said softly. ‘Mr. Potter. Slytherin’s new celebrity.’

Draco Malfoy sniggered from the row behind, sat directly behind Harry, with his lackeys shadowing over Hermione and Blaise. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class with black eyes. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

‘You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,’ he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word - like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. ‘As there is little fooling wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the sense … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.’

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Blaise exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving herself. 

‘Potter!’ said Snape suddenly. ‘What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?’

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Blaise, who looked almost as stumped as he was; Hermione’s hand had shot into the air. 

‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Harry. 

Snape’s lip curled into a sneer. 

The interrogation went on until Malfoy and his friends could barely hold back their laughter and Hermione was about to burst in desperation. Eventually, Snape gave in and answered his own questions before threatening to take house points. 

Things didn’t improve as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put everyone into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticising almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeons.  
Kevin Entwhistle had somehow managed to melt Michael Corner’s cauldron into a twisted blob and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Within seconds, the whole class were standing on their stools as Kevin, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs. 

‘Idiot boy!’ snarled Snape, clearing the spilt potion with one wave of his wand. ‘I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire? How a Ravenclaw ended up with such incompetence is beyond me, you’re supposed to be wise!’

Kevin whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose. 

‘Take him to the hospital wing,’ Snape spat at Michael. Then he rounded on Harry and Hermione, who had been working beside Kevin.

‘You - Granger - why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s a point from Ravenclaw.’

Hermione looked genuinely upset at the prospect of losing points, but held back any harsh words she may have been thinking and instead bit her lip. 

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry’s mind was racing but he focused on Hermione. 

‘Cheer up,’ said Harry. ‘You know it’s not your fault really. Come with me and Blaise to meet Hagrid if you like? It’ll take your mind off it.’

At five to three, they left the castle and made their way acrid the school grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door. 

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid’s voice rang out saying, ‘Back, Fang - back!’

Hagrid’s big hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open. He let them in, struggling to hold on to the collar of the black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants are hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire and in a corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it. 

‘Make yourselves at home,’ said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Blaise and starting licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang wasn’t as fierce as he looked. 

‘This is Blaise, and Hermione,’ Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes on to a plate. 

The rock cakes almost broke their teeth, but the three of them pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Blaise’s knee and drooled all over his robes. Harry and Blaise were thrilled to hear Hagrid call Filch ‘that old git’.

Harry told Hagrid about Snape’s lesson. Hagrid, like Blaise, told Harry that Snape hardly liked anyone, even in Slytherin. The conversation flowed, though Hagrid seemed to avoid talking about any of the teachers too much as though he had something to hide. 

As the three of them walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they’d been too polite to refuse.

In the Great Hall, Harry busied himself reading the Daily Prophet and found out that there had been a break-in to Gringotts … Vault 713 … the vault Hagrid had been visiting that day in Diagon Alley on ‘Hogwarts business’. He couldn’t hold his own curiosity so allowed the thoughts to whir around in his head as he ate, right up until he got into bed that night and fell asleep.


	9. The Midnight Duel

Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than those from his muggle school, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy. What made it worse was being in the same house as him, sharing a dormitory with him and being in all of the same classes. Things couldn't get worse, Harry thought, before he saw a notice announcing that flying lessons would begin on Thursday.

'Typical,' said Harry darkly. 'Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy.'

He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else, after years of hearing Sirius reminisce about Quidditch.

'You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself,' said Blaise reasonably. 'Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk. His father was a beater and his mother was a chaser, it'd be an embarrassment if he couldn't fly already.'

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Theodore Nott told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Blaise would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on his second step-father's broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Blaise had already had a big argument with Sophie Rogers, who was in the girls' dorm, about football. Blaise couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly.

Daphne's parents hadn't allowed her anywhere near a broom until she'd got her Hogwarts letter; her mother's upbringing had given her over-protective tendencies.

Daphne was almost as nervous about flying as Harry was, though far less excited. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book—not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all stupid with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Daphne's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly further down the table.

He and Blaise watched as Draco passed the Gryffindor table and swiped, what looked to be, a small glass ball from the toadless boy's hand. Ron jumped to his feet and Harry almost moved to join him though Blaise pulled on his shoulder and kept him in his seat. Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

'What's going on?'

'Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor.'

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

'Just looking,' he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Blaise, and the other Slytherins hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, its trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Gryffindors were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Marcus Flint complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

'Well, what are you all waiting for?' she barked. 'Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.'

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

'Stick out your right hand over your broom,' called Madam Hooch at the front, 'and say 'Up!''

'UP!' everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Daphne Greengrass' had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville Longbottom's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry, stood between Blaise and Ron, was delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

'Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,' said Madam Hooch. 'Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—'

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

'Come back, boy!' she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle—twelve feet—twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom. A thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift toward the Forbidden Forest and out of sight. Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as pale as his.

'Broken wrist,' Harry heard her mutter. 'Come on, boy—it's all right, up you get.'

She turned to the rest of the class.

'None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear.'

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him. No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

'Did you see his face, the great lump?'

Crabbe and Goyle joined in.

'Shut up, Malfoy,' snapped Parvati Patil, one of the Gryffindor girls.

'Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?' said Pansy Parkinson. 'Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati.'

'Look!' said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. 'It's that stupid thing Longbottom's Gran sent him.'

The sphere glittered in the sun as he held it up.

'Give that here, Malfoy,' said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch as Malfoy smiled nastily.

'I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?'

'Give it here!' Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, 'Come and get it, Potter!'

Harry grabbed his broom.

'No!' shouted Daphne. 'Madam Hooch told us not to move—you'll get into trouble.'

Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him—and in a rush of fierce joy he realised he'd found something he could do without being taught—this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.

He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.

'Give it here,' Harry called, 'or I'll knock you off that broom!'

'Oh, yeah?' said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leant forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp turn and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

'No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy,' Harry called.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

'Catch it if you can, then!' he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down—next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball—wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching—he stretched out his hand—a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the ball clutched safely in his fist.

'HARRY POTTER!'

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor Snape was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.

'Never, in all my years at Hogwarts…' Professor Snape was almost speechless with shock, and his jaw tightened angrily as he spoke, 'How dare you! You might have broken your neck, or somebody else's!'

'It wasn't his fault, Professor—'

'Quiet, Miss Greengrass—'

'But Malfoy—'

'Mr Weasley, I'm not interested in your account. Potter, follow me, now.'

Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor Snape's wake as he strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor Snape was gliding along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would Sirius and Remus say when he got sent home? He knew they wouldn't be angry but they'd definitely be disappointed.

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor Snape didn't say a word to him. He wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind him. Maybe Snape was taking him to Dumbledore.

Professor Snape stopped outside a classroom. He turned sharply with furious eyes.

'Do you know the dangers you posed, both to yourself and to others on that broom, Potter? It was reckless, and I do not want you to think of what I am about to do as a reward. It is my responsibility as your teacher to take 20 points from Slytherin for your misdemeanour, and it is your responsibility to earn them back,' said Snape, turning towards the classroom door and opening it. 'Quirrell, I need Flint for a minute.'

A stocky fifth-year boy that Harry recognised from the Great Hall came out of Flitwick's class looking curious.

'Follow me,' said Professor Snape, and they marched on up the corridor, Flint glaring at Harry. 'In here.'

Professor Snape pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

'Out, Peeves!' he barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and swooped out cursing. Professor Snape slammed the door and turned to face the two boys.

'Potter, this is Marcus Flint. Flint—I've found you a Seeker.'

Flint's expression changed from puzzlement to pure outrage.

'A first-year? Don't you want to win the Quidditch Cup this year, sir?'

'Absolutely,' said Professor Snape sharply. 'The boy's a natural. I've never seen such talent in a first-year. That your first time on a broomstick, Potter?'

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.

'He caught a remembrall in his hand after a fifty-foot dive,' Professor Snape told Flint. 'Didn't even scratch himself. Steve Talkalot himself couldn't have done it, and if he's good enough for the national team then Potter's good enough for Slytherin.'

Flint was now looking as though he thought Snape had gone mad.

'Ever even seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?' he asked through narrowed eyes.

'Flint's captain of the Slytherin team,' Professor Snape explained.

'He's definitely scrawny enough,' said Flint, now walking around Harry and staring at him. 'Light—speedy—we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor—a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say.'

'I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and find a way to bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a strong seeker if we're going to keep the cup, with Higgs out of action. Gryffindor could pose a threat, and we cannot lose to them.'

Professor Snape glared sternly at Harry.

'I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I will change my mind about punishing you.'

Then he smirked.

'Son of James Potter, of course, you were destined to be a Quidditch star from birth,' he said drolly. 'He was never as good as he thought he was, but it's impossible to pretend he couldn't fly. Swiped the Quidditch Cup from under our noses in '73.'

At dinnertime, Harry was just finished telling Blaise what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor Snape. Blaise had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

'Seeker?' he said. 'But first years never—you must be the youngest House player in about—'

'—74 years,' said Harry, shovelling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the rush of the afternoon. 'Flint said.'

Blaise was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

'I start training next week,' said Harry. 'Only don't tell anyone, Snape wants to keep it a secret.'

Adrian Pucey now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.

'See you on the pitch,' said Pucey in a low voice. 'Flint told us. I'm one of the Chasers, let's see what you're made of. I tell you, if we lose that Quidditch Cup this year, we're blaming you, Potter. We haven't lost in five years. You must be good, Harry, Flint couldn't believe Snape had let you on the team.'

Adrian had hardly disappeared when someone even less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

'Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to your family, if you can call them that?'

'You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you,' said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

Ron, who happened to be passing the Slytherin table, intentionally slammed right into Malfoy as he walked past, only to be held tight by Crabbe.

'Want to see just how brave I can be, Potter?' sneered Malfoy. 'Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel between this brave little blood traitor and me. Wands only—no contact. What's the matter, Weasley? You're looking a bit queasy, scared?'

'Of course, he's not,' said Harry, standing up. 'I'm his second, who's yours?'

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

'Crabbe,' he said. 'Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked.'

When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other.

'Harry, why on Earth did you agree to that?' said Ron. 'You can't start trouble in your own House, not for me! Don't come tonight, I can manage alone.'

'I'm not deserting you, Ron. Slytherin or not, Malfoy needs to learn his lesson.' said Harry reassuringly.

'And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?' asked Ron.

'Throw it away and punch him on the nose,' Blaise suggested, smirking.

'Excuse me.'

They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger, she had been stuck behind Ron and Malfoy, waiting to get past.

'Can we help you?' asked Ron, rolling his eyes at the girl.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

'I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying—'

'Bet you could,' Ron muttered.

'—and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose your Houses if you're caught, and you're bound to be.'

'And it's really not your concern, Hermione,' said Harry pointedly.

'Good-bye,' said Ron harshly.

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Nott and Goyle falling asleep. Blaise had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoy's sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness—this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.

'Half-past eleven,' Blaise whispered at last, 'you'd better go before they do.'

Harry pulled on his bathrobe, picked up his wand, and crept across the dungeon room, down the windowed corridor, and into the Slytherin common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. He had almost reached the trophy room when a voice spoke from the stairs across the hallway, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."

He cast lumos carefully. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

'You!' said Ron furiously as he entered into view from the trophy room. 'Go back to bed!'

'I almost told Penelope Clearwater,' Hermione snapped, 'she's a prefect, she'd put a stop to this.'

Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering, so interfering that they put themselves in the firing line to drag somebody else out of it.

'Come on,' Harry said to Ron. The two of them turned for the trophy room but Hermione was still following close behind them.

'I'm coming with you,' she said.

'You are not.'

'I won't let you ruin everything you've worked for Harry! Not because some stupid Gryffindor can't look after himself.'

'You've got some nerve—' said Ron loudly.

'Shut up, both of you!' said Harry sharply. 'I heard something.'

It was a sort of snuffling.

'Mrs. Norris?' breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.

It wasn't Mrs Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

'Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't find my way back to Gryffindor tower.'

'Right—well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, if you haven't found it by the time we come back then you can go up with me—'

"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville.

'If either of you gets us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and use it on you.'

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward. They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.

'He's late, maybe he's chickened out,' Ron whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak—and it wasn't Malfoy.

'Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.'

It was Filch speaking to Mrs Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

'They're in here somewhere,' they heard him mutter, 'probably hiding.'

'This way!' Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run—he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour. The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

'RUN!' Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following—they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going—they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

'I think we've lost him,' Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

'I—told—you,' Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, 'I—told—you.'

'We've got to get back to our dormitories,' said Ron, 'quickly as possible.'

'Malfoy tricked you,' Hermione said to Ron. 'You realise that, don't you? He was never going to meet you—Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.'

Harry thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

'Let's go.'

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them. It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

'Shut up, Peeves—please—you'll get us thrown out.'

'Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty.'

'Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please.'

'Should tell Filch, I should,' said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. 'It's for your own good, you know.'

'Get out of the way,' snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves—this was a big mistake.

'STUDENTS OUT OF BED!' Peeves bellowed, 'STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!'

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door—and it was locked.

'This is it!' Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, 'We're done for! This is the end!'

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.

'Oh, move over,' Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, 'Alohomora!'

The lock clicked and the door swung open—they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

'Which way did they go, Peeves?' Filch was saying. 'Quick, tell me.'

'Say 'please.''

'Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?'

'Shan't say nothing if you don't say please,' said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

'All right—please.'

'NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!' And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

'He thinks this door is locked,' Harry whispered. 'I think we'll be okay—get off, Neville!' For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. 'What?'

Harry turned around—and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare—this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far. They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden. They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs. It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Harry groped for the doorknob—between Filch and death, he'd take Filch.

They fell backward—Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared—all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't even stop running to say goodnight, heading straight for their dormitories.

'You weren't caught?' Draco scoffed, looking at Harry's bathrobe hanging off his shoulders and his flushed, sweaty face.

'Sadly not, Malfoy. What a disappointment that you couldn't find your way to the trophy room…get lost, did you?' hissed Harry.

The next morning at breakfast, Hermione and Harry went over to the almost-bare Gryffindor table where only Ron was left, with a few older students sat further down.

'What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?' said Ron finally. 'If any dog needs exercise, that one does.'

'You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?' Hermione snapped. 'Didn't you see what it was standing on?'

'The floor?' Harry suggested. 'I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads.'

'No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something.'

She stood up, glaring at them.

'I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed—or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to arithmancy.'

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he wandered towards Herbology with Ron walking alongside him. The dog was guarding something… What had Remus said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide—except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harry had found out where the contents of vault seven hundred and thirteen had been put.


	10. Hallowe'en

After classes that day, Ron and Harry met in the courtyard to discuss further. Indeed, by the afternoon Harry and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry filled Ron and Hermione in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

‘It’s either really valuable or really dangerous,’ said Ron.

‘Or both,’ said Harry.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was something to do with Dumbledore.

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again. Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus. All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone’s attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don’t want everybody knowing you’ve got a broomstick or they’ll all want one. Marcus Flint will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o’clock for your first training session.  
Professor S. Snape

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Blaise to read.

‘A Nimbus Two Thousand!’ Blaise moaned enviously. ‘Dad wouldn’t let me have one, since I wouldn’t be able to bring it anyway.’

They rushed over to the Gryffindor table to get Ron before leaving the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first classes, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

‘That’s a broomstick,’ he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. ‘You’ll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren’t allowed them.’

Ron couldn’t resist a slight dig.

‘It’s not any old broomstick,’ he said, ‘it’s a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you’ve got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty? Comets look flashy, but they’re not in the same league as the Nimbus.’

‘What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn’t afford half the handle,’ Malfoy snapped back. ‘I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig.’

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy’s elbow.

‘Not arguing, I hope, boys?’ he squeaked.

‘Potter’s been sent a broomstick, Professor,’ said Malfoy quickly.

‘Yes, yes, that’s right,’ said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. ‘Professor Snape informed the entire staff of the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?’

‘A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,’ said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy’s face. ‘And it’s really thanks to Malfoy here that I’ve got it,’ he added.

The three boys headed downstairs to the potions lab, smothering their laughter at Malfoy’s obvious rage and confusion.

‘Well, it’s true,’ Harry chortled as they reached the classroom door, ‘If he hadn’t stolen Neville’s Remembrall I wouldn’t be on the team…’

‘So I suppose you think that’s a reward for breaking rules?’ came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping past them to set up behind her desk, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry’s hand.

‘I thought you weren’t speaking to us?’ said Harry.

‘Yes, don’t stop now,’ said Ron, ‘it’s doing us so much good.’

Hermione turned away her nose in the air.

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering down to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he’d be learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating, and then rushed downstairs with Blaise to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

‘Wow,’ Blaise sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry’s bedspread.

Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o’clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. He’d never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Flint, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling—he swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

‘Potter, come down!’

Marcus Flint had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry landed next to him.

‘Very nice,’ said Flint, his eyes narrow. ‘I see what Snape meant… you are a natural. I’m just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you’ll be joining team practice three times a week.’

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

‘Right,’ said Flint. ‘Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it’s not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers.’

‘Three Chasers,’ Harry repeated, as Flint took out a bright red ball about the size of a football.

‘This ball’s called the quaffle,’ said Flint. ‘The Chasers throw the quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal- I’m a chaser for Slytherin. Ten points every time the quaffle goes through one of the hoops.’

‘The Chasers throw the quaffle and put it through the hoops to score,’ Harry recited. ‘So—that’s sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn’t it?’

‘What’s basketball?’ said Flint curiously.

‘Never mind,’ said Harry quickly.

‘Now, there’s another player on each side who’s called the Keeper. They have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring.’

‘Three Chasers, one Keeper,’ said Harry, who was determined to remember it all. ‘And they play with the quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?’ 

He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

‘Patience, Potter,’ said Flint. ‘Take this.’

He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

‘I’m going to show you what bludgers do,’ Flint said. ‘These two are the bludgers.’

He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

‘Stand back,’ Flint ordered sharply. He bent down and freed one of the bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harry’s face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking his nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air—it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Flint, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

‘See?’ Flint panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. ‘The bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That’s why you have two beaters on each team—Bole and Derrick are ours—it’s their job to protect their side from the bludgers and try and hit the other team.’

‘Three chasers try and score with the quaffle; the keeper guards the goal posts; the beaters keep the bludgers away from their team,’ Harry reeled off.  
‘You are listening!’ said Flint.

‘Er—have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?’ Harry asked, hoping he sounded offhand.

‘Never at Hogwarts. We’ve had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That’s you. And you don’t have to worry about the quaffle or the bludgers—‘

Harry bit back his concerns as Flint reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the quaffle and the bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

‘This,’ said Flint, ‘is the Golden Snitch, and it’s the most important ball of the lot. It’s very hard to catch because it’s so fast and difficult to see. It’s the Seeker’s job to catch it. You’ve got to weave in and out of the chasers, beaters, bludgers, and quaffle to get it before the other team’s seeker, because whichever seeker catches the snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That’s why seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages. The record is three months. Well, that’s it—any questions?’

Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to be the problem.

‘We won’t practice with the Snitch yet,’ said Flint, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, ‘it’s too dark, we might lose it. Let’s try you out with a few of these.’

He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Flint throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.

Harry didn’t miss a single one, and Flint seemed satisfied. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn’t carry on.

‘Seems I was wrong to underestimate you, we’ll keep a hold on our winning streak,’ said Flint as they trudged back up to the castle. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you turn out better than one of the Talkalots, and all of them ended up playing professionally.’

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he’d already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle was beginning to feel like home, and he didn’t find himself wishing he was back at the cottage half as much anymore, though of course he missed his family. His lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they’d seen him make Padma Patil’s cat fly across the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry’s partner was Daphne Greengrass. Blaise, however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Blaise or Hermione was more annoyed about this. She hadn’t spoken to any of the boys since the day Harry’s broomstick had arrived.

‘Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!’ squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. ‘Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too—never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.’

It was very difficult. Harry and Daphne swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Daphne got so impatient that she blew at it in the hopes she might fool Professor Flitwick- suffice to say she didn’t.

Blaise, at the next table, wasn’t having much more luck.

‘Wingardium Leviosa!’ he grumbled, waving his long arms like a windmill.

‘You’re saying it wrong,’ Harry heard Hermione snap. ‘It’s Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.’

‘You do it, then, if you’re so clever,’ Blaise snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, ‘Wingardium Leviosa!’

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

‘Oh, well done!’ cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. ‘Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it!’

Blaise was in a very bad mood by the end of the class.

‘It’s no wonder no one can stand her,’ he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor and bumped into Ron who had just come out of Arithmancy in the room next door, ‘she’s a nightmare, honestly.’

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face—and was startled to see that she was in tears.

‘I think she heard you.’

‘So?’ said Ron, only just joining the conversation. ‘She’s the one acting like a child about all of this and refusing to speak to us, and she must’ve noticed she’s got no friends … even in her own House.’

They went off to History of Magic without any concern, not seeing her for the rest of the afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry, Ron, and Blaise overheard Padma Patil telling her sister Parvati that Hermione was crying in the girls’ bathroom and wanted to be left alone. Blaise looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet. Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, “Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know.”

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence.

‘Prefects,’ he rumbled, ‘lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!’

Ron’s brother Percy was in his element as he guided the Gryffindors back to their common roof.

‘Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I’m a prefect!’

‘You’re coming with me, we’ve got to go find Hermione, and you’re responsible,’ Harry hissed as he pulled Ron to one side and dragged him down a corridor.

‘Trolls are supposed to be really stupid,’ said Ron. ‘Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke. Harry, if we get in trouble for her then I am never forgiving you.’

‘There’s no ‘we’ about it, I asked Blaise to cover for me, and this has nothing to do with me. I’m going to help because I don’t want her to get killed, you’re helping because you and Blaise are the reason she’s in there … but Blaise is a lot harder to convince than you, and at least he admits when he’s been an idiot.’

Ron bit his lip.

‘Oh, all right,’ he snapped. ‘But I’m dragging Zabini down with me if Hermione goes to Flitwick about it.’

They were almost at the girls’ bathrooms when they heard the sharp click of shoes against stone.

‘Percy!’ hissed Ron, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

‘What’s he doing?’ Harry whispered. ‘Why isn’t he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?’

‘Search me.’

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape’s fading footsteps.

‘He’s heading for the third floor,’ Harry said, but Ron held up his hand.

‘Can you smell something?’

Harry sniffed and a foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.  
And then they heard it—a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed—at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight. It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

‘The key’s in the lock,’ Harry muttered. ‘We could lock it in.’

‘Good idea,’ said Ron nervously.

They edged toward the open door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn’t about to come out of it. With one great leap, Harry managed to grab the key, slam the door, and lock it.

‘Yes!’

Flushed with their victory, they started to run back up the passage, but as they reached the corner they heard something that made their hearts stop—a high, petrified scream—and it was coming from the chamber they’d just chained up.

‘Oh, no,’ said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.

‘It’s the girls’ bathroom!’ Harry gasped.

‘Hermione!’ they said together.

It was the last thing they wanted to do, but what choice did they have? Wheeling around, they sprinted back to the door and turned the key, fumbling in their panic. Harry pulled the door open and they ran inside. Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

‘Confuse it!’ Harry said desperately to Ron, and, seizing a tap, he threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.

‘Oy, pea-brain!’ yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn’t even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.

‘Come on, run, run!’ Harry yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but she couldn’t move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll’s neck from behind. The troll couldn’t feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry’s wand had still been in his hand when he’d jumped—it had gone straight up one of the troll’s nostrils. Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club.

Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand—not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: ‘Wingardium Leviosa!’

The club flew suddenly out of the troll’s hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over—and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner’s head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble. Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

‘Is it—dead?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Harry, ‘I think it’s just been knocked out.’

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll’s nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

‘Urgh—troll bogies.’

He wiped it on the troll’s trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn’t realised what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll’s roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart. Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Harry. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. 

‘What on Earth were you thinking of?’ said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. ‘You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitories?’

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He wished Ron would put his wand down. Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

‘Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me.’

‘Miss Granger!’

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

‘I went looking for the troll because I—I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I’ve read all about them.’  
Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?

‘If they hadn’t found me, I’d be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn’t have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.’

Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn’t new to them.

‘Well—in that case…’ said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, ‘Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?’

Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

‘Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Ravenclaw for this,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘I’m very disappointed in you. If you’re not hurt at all, you’d better get off to your dormitories. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses.’

Hermione left and Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron.

‘Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win five house points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.’

They hurried out of the chamber and didn’t speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

‘We should have gotten more than five points,’ Ron grumbled. ‘Good of Hermione to get us out of trouble like that. Mind you, we did save her life.’

‘She might not have needed saving if she hadn’t been her in the first place because of somebody,’ Harry reminded him. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 

The two parted ways and Harry headed down to the dungeons. The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Blaise, however, stood anxiously by the door, waiting for Harry. There was a very embarrassed pause before Harry offered a reassuring nod.  
Blaise Zabini wasn’t one to be unnecessarily cruel, so he felt guilty. The next morning at breakfast, he even went over with Harry to offer a mumbled apology for his behaviour, and Ron joined them to do the same.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.


	11. Quidditch

As November came, the weather turned cold. The mountains around the school became icy grey and the lake formed a thin sheet of it over top of it. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be outside, defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Slytherin versus Gryffindor. If Slytherin won, they would knock Ravenclaw out of the top spot.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Flint had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn’t know which was worse—people telling him he’d be brilliant or people telling him they’d be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermione as a friend. He didn’t know how he’d have gotten through all his homework without her, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Flint was making them do. She had also lent him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read. Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. The day before Harry’s first Quidditch match the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break with Blaise and Daphne, and Hermione had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. The five of them moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn’t be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape’s eye. He limped over. He hadn’t seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

‘What’s that you’ve got there, Potter?’

It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him.

‘Scared about tomorrow, Potter? Oh dear, well, I hope we can rely upon you to do your bit,’ said Snape with a devious grin.

‘He’s just trying to scare me,’ Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away. ‘Wonder what’s wrong with his leg?’

‘Dunno, but I hope it’s really hurting him,’ said Ron bitterly.

The Slytherin common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Blaise, and Daphne sat together in the corridor, watching the lake absent-mindedly. Daphne was checking through the boys’ Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy, but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway. Daphne was remarkably intelligent; she would’ve been sorted into Ravenclaw if it wasn’t for her overwhelming ambition.

Harry felt restless. He had read through Hermione’s book a million times but he couldn’t think about anything other than Snape’s leg. Why should he be worried about Snape? Getting up, he told Daphne and Blaise he was going to ask Snape about his leg.

‘On your head be it,’ they said together, but Harry had an idea that Snape’s bark was worse than his bite.

He made his way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing. Perhaps Snape was in the potions lab? It was worth checking here first though, Harry thought. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside—and a horrible scene met his eyes. Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

‘Blasted thing,’ Snape was saying. ‘How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?’

Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but—

‘POTTER!’

Snape’s face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.

‘I just wondered if I could have my book back.’

‘GET OUT! OUT!’

Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He sprinted back upstairs.

‘Did you find anything out?’ Blaise asked as Harry joined them. ‘What’s the matter?’

In a low whisper, Harry told them what he’d seen.

‘You know what this means?’’ he finished breathlessly. ‘He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That’s where he was going when you and Ron saw him—he’s after whatever it’s guarding! And I’d bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!’

Daphne’s eyes were wide.

‘No—he wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘He’s abnormally strict, but he wouldn’t try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe. He still believes in the best interests of the school somewhere behind all that hatred.’

‘Honestly, Daphne, you think all teachers are saints or something,’ snapped Blaise. ‘I’m with Harry. I wouldn’t put anything past Snape, Dad’s told me stories about what he was like at school … the stereotype of a Slytherin that gives us all a bad name. But what’s he after? What’s that dog guarding?’

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Goyle was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn’t sleep. He tried to empty his mind—he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours—but the expression on Snape’s face when Harry had seen his leg wasn’t easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

‘You’ve got to eat some breakfast.’

‘I don’t want anything.’

‘Just a bit of toast,’ wheedled Daphne.

‘I’m not hungry.’

Harry felt terrible. In an hour’s time he’d be walking onto the field.

‘Harry, you need your strength,’ said Ron, who’d come over to the Slytherin table to wish him luck. ‘Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.’

‘Thanks, Ron,’ said Harry, watching Ron swipe a sausage from one of the dishes.

By eleven o’clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Ron joined Neville and the other Gryffindors near the top of the stands, Hermione was stood on the other side of Ron with a Ravenclaw scarf wrapped around her neck. Despite the fact that Ron felt obliged to support his brothers and his House, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t support Harry too. 

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their emerald Quidditch robes (Gryffindor would be in red).

Flint cleared his throat for silence.

‘Okay, lads,’ he said.

‘Excuse me?’ balked Keeper Genevieve Prewett.

‘Sorry, Gen,’ Flint grumbled. ‘This is it.’

‘The big one,’ said the beater Derrick.

‘The one we’ve all been waiting for,’ said his teammate Bole.

‘Shut up, you two,’ said Flint gruffly. ‘We are carrying a legacy much greater than ourselves, we have a responsibility to those who came before us. We cannot be the team to break the winning streak.’

He glared at them all as if to say, ‘Or else.’

‘Right. Its time. Good luck, all of you.’

Harry followed the rest of the team out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren’t going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

‘Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,’ she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to Flint. ‘Mount your brooms, please.’

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

‘And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—‘

‘JORDAN!’

‘Sorry, Professor.’

A Gryffindor boy that Harry had seen with the Weasley twins was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

‘And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve—back to Johnson and—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle up there—he’s going to sc—no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle—that’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and—OUCH—that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger—Quaffle taken by the Slytherins—that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger—sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which—nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes—she’s really flying—dodges a speeding Bludger—the goal posts are ahead—come on, now, Angelina—Keeper Bletchley dives—misses—GRYFFINDORS SCORE!’

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

‘Budge up there, move along.’

‘Hagrid!’

Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

‘Bin watchin’ from me hut,’ said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, ‘But it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?’

‘Nope,’ said Ron. ‘Harry hasn’t had much to do yet.’

‘Kept outta trouble, though, that’s somethin’,’ said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Flint’s game plan.

‘Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch,’ Flint had said. ‘We don’t want you attacked before you have to be.’

Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys’ wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Peregrine Derrick came chasing after it.

‘Watch out, Potter!’ he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Gryffindor Captain Oliver Wood.

‘Slytherin in possession,’ Lee Jordan was saying, ‘Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the—wait a moment—was that the Snitch?’

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Gryffindor Seeker Patricia Stimpson had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch—all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch. Harry was faster than Stimpson—he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead—he put on an extra spurt of speed—

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Slytherins below—Alicia Spinnet had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry’s broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

‘Foul!’ screamed the Slytherins.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Spinnet and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Slytherin. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Crabbe was yelling, ‘Send her off, ref!’

‘What are you doing, Crabbe? Shut up! Why do you care about Potter?’ said Malfoy.

‘It’s still Slytherin!’ said Crabbe furiously. 

‘But it’s Potter, Crabbe,’ Draco reminded him.

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

‘So—after that slightly questionable action—‘ he received a deadly glare from McGonagall who was trying to maintain a pretence of no bias. ‘All right, all right. Spinner nearly kills the Slytherin Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m sure, so a penalty to Slytherin, taken by Flint, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Slytherin still in possession.’

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He’d never felt anything like that. It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Slytherin goal posts—he had half a mind to ask Flint to call time-out—and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn’t turn it. He couldn’t direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

Lee was still commentating.

‘Slytherin in possession—Flint with the Quaffle—passes Spinnet—passes Bell—hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose—only joking, Professor—Slytherins score—oh no…’

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry’s broom was behaving strangely It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

‘Dunno what Harry thinks he’s doing,’ Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. ‘If I didn’ know better, I’d say he’d lost control of his broom… but he can’t have…’

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry’s broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

‘Did something happen to it when Spinnet blocked him?’ Ron whispered.

‘Can’t have,’ Hagrid said, his voice shaking. ‘Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic—no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.’

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid’s binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

‘What are you doing?’ moaned Ron, gray-faced.

‘I knew it,’ Hermione gasped, ‘Snape—look.’

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

‘He’s doing something—jinxing the broom,’ said Hermione.

‘What should we do?’

‘Leave it to me.’

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys twins flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms - an act of real sportsmanship from the pair - but it was no good—every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

‘Come on, Hermione,’ Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn’t even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape’s robes. It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row—Snape would never know what had happened.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

‘Neville, you can look!’ Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid’s jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick—he hit the field on all fours—coughed—and something gold fell into his hand.

‘I’ve got the Snitch!’ he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

‘He didn’t catch it, he nearly swallowed it,’ Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, smug in their success—Harry hadn’t broken any rules though Lee Jordan was still trying to find one. Slytherin had won by two hundred and twenty points to twenty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid’s hut, with Ron and Hermione.

‘It was Snape,’ Ron was explaining, ‘Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn’t take his eyes off you.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Hagrid, who hadn’t heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. ‘Why would Snape do somethin’ like that, to a Slytherin an’ all?’

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.

‘I found out something about him,’ he told Hagrid. ‘He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it’s guarding.’

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

‘How do you know about Fluffy?’ he said.

‘Fluffy?’

‘Yeah—he’s mine—bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year—I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—‘

‘Yes?’ said Harry eagerly.

‘Now, don’t ask me anymore,’ said Hagrid gruffly. ‘That’s top secret, that is.’

‘But Snape’s trying to steal it.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Hagrid again. ‘Snape’s a Hogwarts teacher, he’d do nothin’ of the sort.’

‘So why did he just try and kill Harry?’ cried Hermione. ’I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I’ve read all about them! You’ve got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn’t blinking at all, I saw him!’

‘I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!’ said Hagrid hotly. ‘I don’ know why Harry’s broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn’ try an’ kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh—yer meddlin’ in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicolas Flamel—‘

‘Aha!’ said Harry, ‘so there’s someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?’

Hagrid looked furious with himself.


	12. The Mirror Of Erised

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly again. 

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Slytherin common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the draft corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Snape’s classes down in the dungeons, near the common room, where their breath rose in a mint before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

‘I do feel so sorry,’ said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, ‘for all the people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.’

He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Somehow the news still hadn’t reached him that Harry did have a family, though most of the year knew by this point. Crabbe and Goyle chucked. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lion-fish, ignored them. Malfoy had ben even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Bitter both that house success had relied upon Harry, and that Harry had been accepted onto the team rather than him. He’d tried to joke about how Harry’s antics would get him replaced by the next person to walk through the door, but nobody found it funny because they were so impressed. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had reverted to taunting Harry about having no real family, which he was unaware was water off a duck’s back.

Harry would be going back to the cottage for Christmas. Professor Snape had come around the week before, making a lift of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had heard Blaise say his name. Harry arched an eyebrow before listening to Blaise explain that his parents were going to visit his older sister who worked in New York for the American ministry, MAGUSA. Without hesitation, he told him not to put his name down, and sent an owl to Sirius asking if he could bring a friend for Christmas. 

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they headed upstairs and found a large fir tree blocking the corridor to the staircases. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

‘Hi Hagrid, want some help?’ Ron offered, sticking his head through the branches as he sidled up to them.

‘Nah, I’m all right, thanks, Ron.’

‘Would you mind moving out of the way?’ came Malfoy’s cold drawl from behind them. ‘Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose- that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a palace compared to what your family’s used to.’

Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

‘WEASLEY!’

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy’s robes.

‘He was provoked, Professor Snape,’ said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. ‘Malfoy was insultin’ his family.’

‘Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,’ said Snape silkily. ‘Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn’t more. Move along, all of you.’

Malfoy and his lackeys pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

‘I’ll get him,’ said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy’s back, ‘one of these days, I’ll get him-’

‘I hate them both,’ said Harry, ‘Malfoy and Snape. I can’t wait to get away from them for a couple of weeks.’

‘Come on, cheer up, it’s nearly Christmas,’ said Hagrid. ‘Tell yeh what, come with me an’ see the Great Hall, looks a treat.’

So Harry and Ron, followed closely by Hermione, Daphne and Blaise, went after Hagrid and his tree to the Great Hall, where Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were busy with the decorations.

‘Ah, Hagrid, the last tree - put it in the far corner, would you?’

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

‘How many days you got left until yer holidays?’ Hagrid asked.

‘Just one,’ said Ron glumly. ‘Don’t know what I’m going to do for three weeks without anyone to keep me company.’

‘Come to mine, Blaise is, and Sirius says the more the merrier,’ Harry offered with a grin. This might be the best Christmas ever. 

‘Never mind that, we’ve got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library.’

‘Oh yeah, you’re right,’ said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree. 

‘The library?’ said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. ‘Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren’t yeh?’

‘Oh, we’re not working,’ Harry told him brightly. ‘We’ve been trying to find out who Nicolas Flamel is.’

‘You what?’ Hagrid looked shocked. ‘Listen here - I’ve told yeh - drop it. It’s nothing to you what that dog’s guardian’.’

‘We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that’s all.’ said Blaise.

‘Unless you’d like to tell us and save us the trouble?’ Daphne added. ‘We’ve been through dozens of books already and we can’t find him anywhere - just give us a hint - I know I’ve seen his name before.’

‘I’m saying’ nothin’,’ said Hagrid flatly. 

‘Just have to find out for ourselves, then,’ said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library. 

They had indeed been searching for Flamel’s name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn’t in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows. 

Hermione and Daphne split a list of subjects and titles they had decided to search while Ron and Blaise strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn’t somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he’d never get one. these were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defence Against The Dark Arts. 

‘What are you looking for, boy?’

‘Nothing,’ said Harry.

Madame Pince, the librarian, brandished a feather duster at him. 

‘You’d better get out then. Go on - out!’

Wishing he’d been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left the library. The five of them had already agreed they’d better not ask Madam Pince about Flamel. They were sure she’d be able to tell them, but they were also sure that her Slytherin robes, dusty as they were, would lead her straight to Snape afterwards. Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other four had found anything, but he wasn’t very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn’t surprising they’d found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breaking down their necks.

Five minutes later, they joined him shaking their heads. They went off to lunch. 

‘You will see what you can find out at home, won’t you, Harry?’ said Hermione. ‘And send me an owl if you find anything.’

‘And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is, Daphne,’ Ron added. ‘As long as you’re careful.’

‘Very careful,’ sad Daphne.

Once the holidays had started, the boys were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the cottage and the grounds to explore, and the only people around were Sirius and Remus to keep an eye on them. One evening, they sat by fire in the living room for hours eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork - bread, English muffins, marshmallows - and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which are fun to talk about as long as Remus wasn’t in the room to tell them it was against school rules. 

Ron started teaching Harry wizard chess using the set Sirius kept in the attic. It was exactly like Muggle chess except that figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron had been taught by his brother Charlie, and he was ridiculously good - so good in fact that he beat Remus, which shocked even Sirius. It was nice to be home, especially with friends, and Harry was pleased to see that his family had taken a shine to the pair of them, even Blaise who Harry understood had a reputation as one-of-those-families. 

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun and to spend the day with loved ones. When he woke early the next morning, the first thing he saw a pile of packages at the foot of his bed. 

‘Merry Christmas,’ said Ron sleepily as Harry hopped out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe. 

‘You, too,’ said Harry. ‘Will you look at the this? All these presents!’

‘What did you expect, turnips?’ joked Blaise, turning to his own pile, slightly smaller than Harry’s. ‘Merry Christmas, boys.’ 

Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown parcel and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it - it sounded a bit like an own. 

‘I think I know who that one’s from,’ said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. ‘My Mum … oh no, she’s made you a Weasley jumper.’

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted jumper in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge. 

‘Looks like you’ve got one too, Blaise,’ said Ron, ‘every year she makes us a jumper, and mines always maroon.’

‘That’s very kind of her,’ said Blaise.

Harry’s next present was a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. Then came a pheasant-feather quill in silver and green from Daphne. A muggle selection box from the next door neighbours. Then the final two parcels, both in the same wrapping paper, covered in golden snitches. 

He reached first for the large, rectangular box as Sirius and Remus knocked on the door, opening it and standing to watch as Harry opened his two main presents. The larger of the two was a set of quidditch balls in a case, so that he could practice at home if they found the space away from Muggles. He thanked his guardians eagerly before reaching for the final gift and unwrapping it. 

Something flu and silvery grey went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped. 

‘I’ve heard of those,’ he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavour Beans he’d gotten from Hermione. ‘If that’s what I think it is - they’re really rare, and really valuable.’

‘What is it?’

Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the bedroom carpet. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material. 

‘It’s an invisibility cloak, try it on,’ said Remus, grinning fondly. 

Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Blaise gave a yell. 

‘It is! Look down!’

Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely. 

’It was your father’s. It’s been in the family for generations, and you were to have it on your first Christmas at Hogwarts,’ explained Sirius as Harry bounded over and hugged him, allowing the cloak to fall from his shoulders. 

The five of them headed out into the living room with wide grins, starting to feast upon all of the sweets they’d received, with Sirius and Remus curled in each of the armchairs.

All three boys had their Weasley jumpers on top of their pyjamas. Mrs Weasley, still unaware that Harry was living with Sirius and Remus, had sent a note wishing them a ‘very Muggle Christmas’ and Ron had told them that his muggle-enthused father had probably written it.

Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A fat roast turkey; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas; silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce - and a pile of wizards’ crackers. These fantastic party favours were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the neighbours had at their Christmas Eve meal every year, with their little plastic toys and flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Blaise and it didn’t just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed the entire table in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral’s hat and several, live white mice. Sirius wore a flowered bonnet, and chuckled merrily at a joke Remus had just told him. 

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the main course. Harry watched Sirius get pinker and pinker in the face as he filled his glass with wine over and over, leaning to kiss Remus, who, smiled against Sirius’ lips. 

When the boys finally returned to Harry’s bedroom, they were laden with things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons and a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit.

The five of them spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight in the garden. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire where Remus offered everyone warm butter beer. After a buffet of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch muggle television.

It had been Harry’s best Christmas day ever.

Ron, full of turkey and cake, fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow of the camp bed he was staying on. Blaise wasn’t far behind him, but Harry remained awake, thinking about the invisibility cloak and about his father. 

The night before they returned to Hogwarts, Harry had asked Remus casually about Nicolas Flamel. 

’Nicolas Flamel? He’s a good friend of Dumbledore’s, we used to see him from time to time but he was never much of a party animal,’ said Remus. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

‘Snape mentioned him in a Potions lesson but he’s not in any library books and we were just curious,’ Harry responded convincingly. ‘I recognised the name when he said it.’ 

‘I still cannot believe that man is allowed anywhere near Hogwarts, let alone as Head of House! If there was ever a man to drive Slytherin down the wrong path it’s him. Bet he hasn’t changed since school,’ grumbled Sirius. The conversation moved on though Harry had tried to cling to it, it hadn’t gone unnoticed that his guardians were trying to veer away from the topic. Now he had reason to be concerned. 

The train back to Hogwarts was half-empty with all of the students that had stayed at school over the holidays. The boys met up with Hermione and Daphne, sharing a carriage, to discuss if any of them had found anything, alas, no luck. Harry had decided that as soon as he was sure everyone was asleep, he’d sneak out with the invisibility cloak and check the restricted section for information. 

That night, Harry leant over the side of his own bed and pulled the cloak out from under it. He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only candlelight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling, 

Suddenly, Harry felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this cloak. He could go anywhere, and Filch would never know. He considered waking Blaise but decided against it. 

He crept out of the dormitory, along the corridor, across the common room, and through the wall before coming to the stairs. 

Drawing the invisibility cloak around him as he walked, he set off the for the restricted section. 

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps. The restricted section was right at the back oft he library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles. 

They didn’t tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelt words in languages Harry couldn’t understand. some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn’t be. 

He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting-looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and balancing it on his knee, let it fall open. A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence - the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and one, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside - stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch int he doorway; Filch’s pale, wild eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch’s outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book’s shrieks still ringing in his ears. 

Harry came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armour. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn’t recognise where he was at all. There was a suit of armour near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors up from there. 

‘You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody’s been in the library - restricted section.’

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied, ‘The restricted section? Well, they can’t be far, we’ll catch them.’

Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn’t see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they’d knock right into him—the cloak didn’t stop him from being solid. He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief, he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leant against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. 

It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket—but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn’t look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way. It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

His panic fading now that there was no sign of Snape and Filch, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed—for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him. But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder—but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirrors trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

He looked in the mirror again. Standing just behind him in the mirror were his parents, he recognised them from photos that Sirius and Remus had shown him. His mother, standing right behind his reflection, was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he’d touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air—she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes—her eyes are just like mine … just like everyone said they were, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green—exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. His father, standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry’s did.

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

‘Mum?’ he whispered. ‘Dad?’

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry’s knobbly knees—Harry was looking at his family. The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn’t know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn’t stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother’s face, whispered, ‘I’ll come back,’ and hurried from the room.

‘You could have woken me up,’ said Blaise, crossly at breakfast the next morning.

‘You can come tonight, I’m going back, I want to show you the mirror.’

‘I’d like to see your parents,’ Blaise said eagerly.

‘And I want to see all your family, all the Zabinis, you’ll be able to show me your sisters and everyone.’

‘You can see them any old time,’ said Blaise. ‘Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren’t you eating anything?’

Harry couldn’t eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn’t seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

‘Are you all right?’ said Blaise. ‘You look odd.’

What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Blaise covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk ridiculously slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry’s route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

‘I’m freezing,’ said Blaise. ‘Let’s forget it and go back to bed.’

‘No!’ Harry hissed. ‘I know it’s here somewhere.’

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Blaise started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armour.

‘It’s here—just here—yes!’

They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his shoulders and ran to the mirror. There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

‘See?’ Harry whispered.

‘I can’t see anything,’ hissed Blaise.

‘Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them…’

‘I can only see you.’

‘Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.’

Harry stepped aside, but with Blaise in front of the mirror, he couldn’t see his family anymore, just Blaise in his paisley pyjamas.

Blaise, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

‘Look at me!’ he exclaimed.

‘Can you see all your family standing around you?’

‘Not everyone—it’s just Dad—my real Dad, I mean.”

‘What?’

‘He’s stood next to me and his hand’s on my shoulder, he looks happy.’

Blaise tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look happily at Harry.

‘What do you think it means?’

‘I don’t know—all my family are dead—let me have another look—‘

‘Wait-’

A sudden noise outside in the corridor shut them both up. They hadn’t realised how loudly they had been talking.

‘Quick!’

Blaise threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. Blaise and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing—did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.

‘This isn’t safe—she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on.’

And Blaise pulled Harry out of the room.

The snow still hadn’t melted the next morning.

‘Want to play chess, Harry,’ said Ron.

‘No.’

‘Why don’t we go down and visit Hagrid?’ suggested Blaise.

‘No… you go…’

‘I know what you’re thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don’t go back tonight.’

‘Why not?’

‘I dunno, I’ve just got a bad feeling about it—and anyway, you’ve had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can’t see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?’ 

‘You sound like Hermione.’

‘I’m serious, Harry, don’t go.’

But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and neither Blaise nor Ron wasn’t going to stop him.

That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn’t meet anyone. And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.

Except—

‘So—back again, Harry?’

Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn’t noticed him.

‘I—I didn’t see you, sir.’

‘Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you,’ said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

‘So,’ said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, ‘you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.’

‘I didn’t know it was called that, sir.’

‘But I expect you’ve realised by now what it does?’

‘It—well—it shows me my family—‘

‘And it showed your friend Blaise his father.’

‘How did you know—?’

‘I don’t need a cloak to become invisible,’ said Dumbledore gently. ‘Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?’

Harry shook his head.

‘Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?’

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, ‘It shows us what we want… whatever we want…’

‘Yes and no,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Blaise Zabini, who has never had a father figure owing to the actions of his mother, sees himself with the only man he has ever really looked up to. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible. The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don’t you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?’

Harry stood up.

‘Sir—Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?’

‘Obviously, you’ve just done so,’ Dumbledore smiled. ‘You may ask me one more thing, however.’

‘What do you see when you look in the mirror?’

‘I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks.’

Harry stared.

‘One can never have enough socks,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.’

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he climbed into bed, it had been quite a personal question.


	13. Nicolas Flamel

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for weeks afterwards the Invisibility Cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wished he could forget what he’d seen in the mirror as easily, but he couldn’t. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter. He ended up writing to Remus about it, though he knew there was nothing to be done. 

‘You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad,’ said Ron, when Harry told his friends about the dreams. Hermione was horrified at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row, as well as disappointed that nothing had emerged about Nicolas Flamel.

They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, though remained certain he’d read the name somewhere. As soon as they were back in the swing of classes, they returned to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the rest of them, because Quidditch practice had started again.

Flint was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn’t dampen his spirits. The rest of the team complained that Flint was becoming obsessed, and Harry couldn’t help but agree. They were already in the lead by a fair margin, and the next match was against Hufflepuff, who weren’t going to be a problem if their match with Gryffindor was anything to go by. Quite apart from wanting to win, Harry found that he had fewer nightmares when he was tired out after training. 

During one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Flint announced that Snape was refereeing their match. The rest of the team seemed thrilled, having faith in the fact that he would penalise the Hufflepuffs at every corner in order to ensure Slytherin success. Harry was too concerned for his safety to think about the House Cup.

The rest of the team hung back to take to one another as usual at the end of practice, but Harry headed straight up to the study room beside the library that had become their second home. Inside he found his friends surrounding a table at which Ron and Hermione were playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something that Ron believed was very good for her. 

‘Don’t talk for a moment,’ said Ron when Harry joined them, ‘I need to concen-’ He caught sight of Harry’s face. ‘What’s the matter with you? You look terrible.’

Speaking quietly so the fifth years in the corner wouldn’t hear, Harry told them about Snape’s sudden, sinister desire to a Quidditch referee. 

‘Don’t play,’ said Hermione at once.

‘Say you’re ill,’ said Ron.

‘I can’t,’ said Harry. ‘There’s no reserve Seeker, he’s still not broom-safe so Slytherin would have to forfeit the match.’ 

At that moment, Neville toppled into the study room, his legs stuck together with what they recognised as the leg-locker curse. He must have bunny hopped into the nearest classroom. 

Everyone bit back their laughter except Daphne, who leapt up and performed the countercurse. Neville’s leg sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling. 

‘What happened?’ Hermione asked. 

’Malfoy,’ said Neville shakily. ‘He said he’d been looking for something to practice it on … caught me outside the library.’

‘Go to Professor McGonagall!’ Hermione urged Neville. ‘Report him!’

Neville shook his head. 

‘That wouldn’t do him any good, Hermione,’ reminded Daphne. ‘Not with Snape in charge of discipline of Slytherin students. He’d probably give him a reward for showing promising ability.’ 

‘You’ve got to stand up to him, Neville!’ said Ron. ‘He’s used to walking all over people, but that’s no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier.’

‘There’s no need to tell me I’m not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy’s already done that,’ Neville choked out. 

Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

‘The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn’t it?’ Harry reasoned. ‘Look on the bright side, Neville, at least you’re not stuck sharing a dorm with him which is more than can be said for Blaise and me.’

Neville’s lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog. 

‘Thanks, Harry… I think I’ll go to bed … D’you want the card, you collect them, don’t you?’

As Neville walked away, Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card. 

‘Dumbledore again,’ he said, ‘He was the first one I ever-’

He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at his friends. 

‘I’ve found him!’ he exclaimed, before consciously lowering his voice. ‘I’ve found Flamel! I told you I’d read the name before, Ir head it on the train coming here - listen to this: ‘Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel’!’

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn’t looked so excited since they’d gotten back the marks for their first piece of homework. 

‘Stay there!’ she said, and she sprinted out of the room and across to the library. Daphne rose to follow, but barely had time to get out of her seat before Hermione was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms. 

‘I never thought to look in here!’ she said excitedly. ‘I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.’

‘Light?’ said Blaise, but Daphne rolled her eyes and told him to be quiet while Hermione flicked through the pages frantically, muttering to herself. At last, she found what she was looking for.

‘I knew it! I knew it!’ said Hermione, ‘Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone!’

Daphne’s eyes lit up, but the boys remained vacant. 

‘The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal,’ recited Daphne. ‘There have been many reports of the Sorcerer’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belong to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle, aged six hundred and fifty-eight.’

‘So, that’s what the dog’s guarding,’ concluded Hermione. ‘Flame must’ve asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they’re friends and he knew someone was after it, that’s why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts.’

‘Why does Snape want it, though,’ reasoned Blaise. ‘He’s rich, and he’s only about 30 … what’s he got to be worrying about? Maybe it’s for someone else.’

‘Either way, we know what it is now. No wonder we couldn’t find Flamel in recent wizarding history, he’s not exactly recent if he’s sixty hundred and sixty-five, is he?’ said Ron.

The next morning in Defence Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Blaise were still discussing what they’d do with a Philosopher’s Stone if they had one. It wasn’t until Blaise said he’d buy the England Quidditch team that Harry remembered about Snape and the coming match. 

‘I’m going to play,’ he told Daphne and Blaise at dinner. ‘If I don’t, I’ll never live it down. I still have to prove myself.’

‘Just as long as Hermione and I sort out our plan of action in case anything like last time happens,’ said Daphne.

As the match drew nearer, however, Harry, became more and more nervous, whatever he told Blaise and Daphne. It showed more, with the rest of the team in such high spirits. The House Cup was almost certainly theirs, with such a biased referee. 

Harry didn’t know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered whether Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture. Snape had taken a particular disliking to both Harry and Hermione, so all of his anger was directed at one desk. Could Snape possibly know they’d found out about the Philosopher’s Stone? Harry didn’t see how he could - yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snap could read minds. 

Harry knew, when they wished him good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Blaise and Ron were wondering whether they’d ever see him alive again. Hermione and Daphne had a very complex plan of action that set Harry on edge if he thought about it for too long. He hardly heard any of Flint’s pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch robes and picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand. 

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the left-facing stands next to Neville, who couldn’t understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they both had their hands clasped around their wands. Little did Harry know that his four friends had been secretly practising the leg-locker curse. They’d gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Snape if they saw any warning signs. 

‘Now, don’t forget, it’s Locomotor Mortis,’ Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve. 

‘I know,’ Ron snapped. ‘Don’t nag.’

On the opposite side of the pitch, an almost identical interaction was occurring between Daphne and Blaise. 

Back in the locker room, Flint was grinning smugly at their almost guaranteed success. 

‘The whole school’s here!’ said Derrick Bole, peering out of the door. ‘Even - Merlin’s beard - Dumbledore’s come to watch!’

Harry’s heart did a somersault. 

‘Dumbledore?’ he said, dashing to the door to make sure. Bole was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.

Harry could’ve laughed out loud with relief. He was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare to try and hurt him with Dumbledore watching. Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry when the teams marched onto the field, something that Blaise noticed, too.

‘I’ve never seen him look so angry,’ he told Daphne. ‘Look - they’re off. Ouch!’

Someone had poked Blaise in the back of the head. It was Malfoy. 

‘Oh, sorry, Zabini, didn’t see you there,’ Malfoy said with a broad grin. ‘Wonder how long Potter’s going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Greengrass?’

Neither of them was listening, Snape had just awarded Slytherin a penalty because a Hufflepuff beater had hit a Bludger at them. Daphne was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch. 

‘I know think Professor Snape’s losing it, Father’s going to have to have a word,’ said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later. ‘Potter can’t play for toffee and we all know it.’

‘D’you know what, Malfoy - one more word -’

‘Daphne!’ said Blaise suddenly, ‘Harry - !’

‘What? Where?’

Harry had gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Daphne stood up, anxiety brimming inside of her, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

‘Y’know I never understood why you were all friends but now I get it! It’s the dead father club! Of course, Potter’s captain because of his mother-’

Blaise snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Blaise was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Pansy squealed, ducking out of the way. 

‘Come on, Harry!’ Daphne yelled, leaping onto her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape - she didn’t even notice Malfoy and Blaise rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something emerald shoot past him, missing him by inches - the next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand. The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly. 

‘Blaise! Blaise! Where are you? The game’s over! Harry’s won! It’s over!’ shrieked Daphne, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Tracey Davis in the row in front. 

Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn’t believe it. He’d done it - the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Slytherins came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped - then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore’s smiling face. 

‘Well done,’ said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear. ‘Nice to see you haven’t been brooding about that mirror … been keeping busy … excellent …’

Snape gave a tight grin as he patted Flint on the shoulder.

Harry left the locker room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn’t even remember feeling happier. He’d really done something to be proud of now - no one could say he was just a famous name anymore. He'd proved himself. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Slytherins running to lift him onto their shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down with Daphne and a bloody-faced Blaise. 

Harry had reached the shed. He leant against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Slytherin maintained the lead. He’d won the match, he’d survived Snape’s refereeing.

Speaking of Snape… A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. Harry’s victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognised the figure’s prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner - what was going on?

Harry jumped back on his broom and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the forest at a run. He followed.

The trees were so thick he couldn’t see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided towards them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.

He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves. 

Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn’t alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn’t make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.

‘…d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…’

‘Oh, I thought we’d keep this private,’ said Snape, his voice icy. ‘Students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone, after all.’

Harry leant forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

‘Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?’

‘B-but Severus, I-‘

‘You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,’ said Snape, taking a step toward him. 

‘I’I d-don't know what you-‘

‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’

An owl hooted loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, ‘-your little bit of hocus pocus. I’m waiting.’

‘B-but I d-d-don’t—‘

‘Very well,’ Snape cut in. ‘We’ll have another little chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie.’

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified. Confused, he headed back.

‘Harry, where have you been?’ Daphne asked when he returned to the common room.

‘We won! You won! You survived!’ uttered Blaise, thumping Harry on the back. ‘And I gave Malfoy a black eye! Talk about showing Snape! Everyone’s been waiting for you, we’re having a party, Snape forced the house-elves to make us all cakes and stuff.’

‘Never mind that now,’ said Harry breathlessly. ‘Let’s find an empty room, you wait ’til you hear this…’

He made sure Peeves wasn’t inside before shutting the door behind them, then he told them what he’d seen and heard.

‘So we were right, it is the Sorcerer’s Stone, and Snape’s trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy—and he said something about Quirrell’s ‘hocus-pocus’—I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through—‘

‘So you mean the Stone’s only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?’ said Daphne in alarm.

‘It’ll be gone by next Tuesday,’ said Blaise.


	14. Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

Quirrell, however, must have been braver than they’d thought, though Harry couldn’t help but remain suspicious as he thought about what Sirius had said about him … they must all be roughly the same age, so maybe Snape was one of the Slytherins that had bullied him. Nevertheless, in the weeks that followed, he seemed to get paler and thinner, but it didn’t look at though he’d cracked yet.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that the stone was still safe. Whenever Harry passed Quirrell these days he gave him an encouraging sort of smile, and Blaise had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell’s stutter.

Hermione and Daphne, however, were worrying about more than the Philosopher’s Stone. They had started drawing up study schedules and color-coding all her notes. The boys wouldn’t have minded, if it weren’t for the constant nagging to do the same. 

‘Hermione, the exams are ages away.’

‘Ten weeks,’ Daphne snapped. ‘That’s not ages, that’s like a second to Nicolas Flamel.’

‘But we’re not six hundred years old,’ Blaise reminded her. ‘Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it all.’

‘What am I studying for? Are you mad? You realise we need to pass these exams to get into second year? They’re very important, I should have started studying a month ago. My parents will kill me if I don’t get straights Os … never mind that, I’ll kill me! Especially with Astoria starting next year, the little dunderhead she is … someone needs to maintain the family reputation and it won’t be her.’

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as the girls. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren’t nearly as much as the Christmas ones. It was hard to relax with Hermione reciting the twelve uses of dragon’s blood in your ear or Daphne practising wand movements right next to you. Moaning and yawning, the boys spent most of their free time in the library with them, trying to get through all their extra work.

‘I’ll never remember all this,’ Ron burst out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the first really fine day they’d had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue, and there was a feeling in the air of summer coming. 

Harry, who was looking up Dittany in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, didn’t look u until he heard Ron say, ‘Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?’

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat. 

‘Jus’ looking’,’ he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. ‘An’ what’re you lot up ter? Yer not still lookin’ fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?’ 

‘Oh, we found out who he is ages ago,’ said Blaise without lifting his eyes from the page. ‘And we know what the dog’s guarding, it’s the Philosopher’s St-‘

‘Shhh!’ Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. ‘Don’ go shoutin’ about it, what’s the matter with yeh?’

‘There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact,’ said Hermione, ‘about the safeguards, aside from Fluffy-’

’SHHH!’ said Hagrid again. ‘Listen - come an’ see me later, I’m not promisin’ I’ll tell yeh anything’, mind, but don’t go rabbitin’ about it in here, students aren’ s’pposed ter know. They’ll think I’ve told yeh-‘

‘See you later, then,’ said Harry.

Hagrid shuffled off. 

‘What was he hiding behind his back?’ said Daphne thoughtfully. 

‘Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?’

‘I’m going to see what section he was in,’ said Ron, who’d had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books, in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

‘Dragons!’ he whispered. ‘Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper’s Guide.’

‘What would Hagrid want with a dragon?’ asked Harry. 

‘Who knows, but it’s against our laws,’ said Daphne. ‘Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It’s hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we’re keeping dragons in the back garden - anyway, you can’t tame dragons, it’s dangerous.’

‘Charlie works with dragons. He’s got some massive burns from the wild ones in Romania!’ interjected Ron. 

‘But there aren’t wild dragons in Britain?’ said Harry.

‘Of course, there are.’ said Blaise. ‘Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry has a job keeping them quiet, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles to make them forget they’ve seen them!’

‘But what on Earth’s Hagrid up to?’ said Hermione. 

Hermione and Blaise stayed back at school while Daphne and Ron went down to Hagrid’s hut with Harry. When they knocked on the door an hour later, they were surprised to see all the curtains closed. Hagrid called ‘who is it?’ before he let them in, and then shut the door quickly behind them.

It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they refused. 

‘So—yeh wanted to ask me somethin’?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry. There was no point beating around the bush. ‘We were wondering if you could tell us what’s guarding the Sorcerer’s Stone apart from Fluffy.’

Hagrid frowned at him.

‘O’ course I can’t,’ he said. ‘Number one, I don’ know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn’ tell yeh if I could. That Stone’s here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts—I s’ppose yeh’ve worked that out an’ all? Beats me how yeh even know abou’ Fluffy.’

‘Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on round here,’ said Daphne in a warm, flattering voice. Hagrid’s beard twitched and they could tell he was smiling. ‘We only wondered who had done the guarding, really.’ Daphne went on. ‘We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you.’

Hagrid’s chest swelled at these last words. Harry and Ron beamed at Daphne.

‘Well, I don’ s’pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that… let’s see… he borrowed Fluffy from me… then some o’ the teachers did enchantments… Professor Sprout—Professor Flitwick—Professor McGonagall—‘ he ticked them off on his fingers, ‘Professor Quirrell—an’ Dumbledore himself did somethin’, o’ course. Hang on, I’ve forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape.’

‘Snape?’

‘Yeah—yer not still on abou’ that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he’s not about ter steal it.’

Harry knew Ron and Daphne were thinking the same as he was. If Snape had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything—except, it seemed, Quirrell’s spell and how to get past Fluffy.

‘You’re the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren’t you, Hagrid?’ said Harry anxiously. ‘And you wouldn’t tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?’

‘Not a soul knows except me an’ Dumbledore,’ said Hagrid proudly.

‘Well, that’s something,’ Harry muttered to the others. ‘Hagrid, can we have a window open? I’m boiling.’

‘Can’t, Harry, sorry,’ said Hagrid. Harry noticed him glance at the fire. Harry looked at it, too.

‘Hagrid—what’s that?’

But he already knew what it was. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

‘Ah,’ said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, ‘That’s—er…’

‘Where did you get it, Hagrid?’ said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. ‘It must’ve cost you a fortune.’

‘Won it,’ said Hagrid. ‘Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.’

‘But what are you going to do with it when it’s hatched?’ said Daphne.

‘Well, I’ve bin doin’ some readin’,’ said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. ‘Got this outta the library—Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit—it’s a bit outta date, o’ course, but it’s all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, ’cause their mothers breathe on ’em, see, an’ when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An’ see here—how ter recognise diff’rent eggs—what I got there’s a Norwegian Ridge-back. They’re rare, them.’

He looked very pleased with himself, but Daphne didn’t.

‘Hagrid, you live in a wooden house,’ she said.

But Hagrid wasn’t listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

So now they had something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.

‘Wonder what it’s like to have a peaceful life,’ Ron sighed, as evening after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were getting. The girls had now started making study schedules for Harry, Blaise and Ron, too. It was driving them nuts.

Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Harry another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: It’s hatching.

Blaise wanted to skip Transfiguration and go straight down to the hut. Daphne and Hermione wouldn’t hear of it.

‘Seriously? How many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?’

‘We’ve got lessons, we’ll get into trouble, and that’s nothing to what Hagrid’s going to be in when someone finds out what he’s doing—‘

‘Shut up!’ Harry whispered.

Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. How much had he heard? Harry didn’t like the look on Malfoy’s face at all.

Blaise and the girls argued all the way to Transfiguration and in the end, Hermione agreed to run down to Hagrid’s with the other two during morning break as long as Daphne stayed behind to cover for them and to tell Ron what had happened. When the bell sounded from the castle at the end of their lesson, the three of them dropped their trowels at once and hurried through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greeted them, looking flushed and excited.

‘It’s nearly out.’ He ushered them inside.

The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it.

They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated breath.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn’t exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon’s head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

‘Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!’ said Hagrid.

‘Hagrid,’ said Hermione, ‘how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?’

Hagrid was about to answer when the colour suddenly drained from his face—he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Someone was lookin’ through the gap in the curtains—it’s a kid—he’s runnin’ back up ter the school.’

Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance, there was no mistaking him.

Malfoy had seen the dragon.

Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy’s face during the next week made everybody very nervous. The five spent most of their free time in Hagrid’s darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

‘Just let him go,’ Harry urged. ‘Set him free.’

‘I can’t,’ said Hagrid. ‘He’s too little. He’d die.’

They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn’t been doing his gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There were empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

‘I’ve decided to call him Norbert,’ said Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. ‘He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where’s Mommy?’

“He’s lost his marbles,” Ron muttered in Harry’s ear.

‘Hagrid,’ said Harry loudly, ‘give it two weeks and Norbert’s going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment.’

Hagrid bit his lip.

‘I—I know I can’t keep him forever, but I can’t jus’ dump him, can’t.’

Harry suddenly turned to Ron.

‘Charlie,’ he said.

‘You’re losing it, too,’ said Ron. ‘I’m Ron, remember?’

‘No—Charlie—your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!’

‘Brilliant!’ said Ron. ‘How about it, Hagrid?’

And in the end, Hagrid agreed that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Daphne and Harry sitting alone in the study room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when Ron burst in. He appeared out of nowhere as he pulled off Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. He had been down at Hagrid’s hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

‘It bit me!’ he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. ‘I’m not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon’s the most horrible animal I’ve ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you’d think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby.’

There was a tap on the dark window.

‘It’s Hedwig!’ said Harry, hurrying to let her in. ‘She’ll have Charlie’s answer!’

The three of them put their heads together to read the note.

Dear Ron,

How are you? Thanks for the letter—I’d be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won’t be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn’t be seen carrying an illegal dragon.

Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it’s still dark.

Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love,

Charlie

They looked at one another.

‘We’ve got the Invisibility Cloak,’ said Harry. ‘It shouldn’t be too difficult—I think the cloak’s big enough to cover at least two of us and Norbert. We’ll have to let Blaise and Hermione know.’

It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other two agreed with him. Anything to get rid of Norbert—and Malfoy. 

There was a hitch. By the next morning, Ron’s bitten hand had swollen to twice its usual size. He didn’t know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pomfrey—would she recognise a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked as if Norbert’s fangs were poisonous.

Harry and Hermione rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state in bed.

‘It’s not just my hand,’ he whispered, ‘although that feels like it’s about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me—I’ve told her it was a dog, but I don’t think she believes me.’

Harry and Hermione tried to calm Ron down.

‘It’ll all be over at midnight on Saturday,’ said Hermione, but this didn’t soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sat bolt upright and broke into a sweat.

‘Midnight on Saturday!’ he said in a hoarse voice. ‘Oh no—oh no—I’ve just remembered—Charlie’s letter was in that book Malfoy took, he’s going to know we’re getting rid of Norbert.’

Harry and Hermione didn’t get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed sleep.

‘It’s too late to change the plan now,’ Harry told Hermione. ‘We haven’t got time to send Charlie another owl, and this could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert. We’ll have to risk it. And we have got the Invisibility Cloak, Malfoy doesn’t know about that.’

They found Fang the boarhound sitting outside with a bandaged tail when they went to tell Hagrid, who opened a window to talk to them.

‘I won’t let you in,’ he puffed. ‘Norbert’s at a tricky stage—nothin’ I can’t handle.’

When they told him about Charlie’s letter, his eyes filled with tears, although that might have been because Norbert had just bitten him on the leg.

‘Aargh! It’s all right, he only got my boot—jus’ playin’—he’s only a baby, after all.’

The baby banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. Harry and Hermione walked back to the castle feeling Saturday couldn’t come quickly enough.

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came for him to say good-bye to Norbert if they hadn’t been so worried about what they had to do. It was a very dark, cloudy night, and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid’s hut because they’d had to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he’d been playing tennis against the wall.

Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

‘He’s got lots o’ rats an’ some brandy fer the journey,’ said Hagrid in a muffled voice. ‘An’ I’ve packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely.’

From inside the crate came ripping noises that sounded to Harry as though the teddy was having his head torn off.

‘Bye-bye, Norbert!’ Hagrid sobbed, as Harry and Daphne covered the crate with the Invisibility Cloak and stepped underneath it themselves. ‘Mommy will never forget you!’

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never knew. Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. Up another staircase, then another—even one of Harry’s shortcuts didn’t make the work much easier.

‘Nearly there!’ Harry panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower.

Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate. Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Malfoy by the ear.

‘Detention!’ she shouted. ‘And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you—‘

‘You don’t understand, Professor. Harry Potter’s coming—he’s got a dragon!’

‘What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on—I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!’

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seemed the easiest thing in the world after that. Not until they’d stepped out into the cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe properly again. Daphne did a sort of jig.

‘Malfoy’s got detention! I could sing!’

‘Don’t,’ Harry advised her.

Chuckling about Malfoy, they waited, Norbert thrashing about in his crate. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness.

Charlie’s friends were a cheery lot. They showed Harry and Daphne the harness they’d rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harry and Daphne shook hands with the others and thanked them very much.

At last, Norbert was going… going… gone.

They slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts as light as their hands, now that Norbert was off them. No more dragon—Malfoy in detention—what could spoil their happiness?

The answer to that was waiting at the foot of the stairs. As they stepped into the corridor, Filch’s face loomed suddenly out of the darkness.

‘Well, well, well,’ he whispered, ‘we are in trouble.’

They’d left the Invisibility Cloak on top of the tower.


	15. The Forbidden Forest

Things couldn't have been worse.

Filch took them down to Professor Snape's office in the dungeons, where they sat and waited without saying a word to each other. Daphne was trembling. Excuses, alibis, and wild cover-up stories chased each other around Harry's brain, each more feeble than the last. He couldn't see how they were going to get out of trouble this time. They were cornered. How could they have been so stupid as to forget the cloak? There was no reason on earth that Professor Snape would accept for their being out of bed and creeping around the school in the dead of night, let alone being up the tallest Astronomy Tower, which was out-of-bounds except for classes. Add Norbert and the Invisibility Cloak, and they might as well be packing their bags already.

Had Harry thought that things couldn't have been worse? He was wrong. When Professor Snape appeared, he was leading Theodore Nott.

'Harry!' Theodore burst out, the moment he saw the other two. 'I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag—'

Harry shook his head violently to shut Theodore up, but Professor Snape had seen. He looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert as he towered over the three of them.

'I might have expected this from Potter but what in Merlin's name were you thinking, Greengrass? What will your parents say? Mr. Filch says you were up in the Astronomy Tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. I'm giving you one chance to explain yourselves.'

It was the first time Daphne had ever failed to answer a teacher's question. She was staring at her slippers, as still as a statue.

'I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on,' said Professor Snape. 'It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I've already caught him. I suppose you think it's funny that Nott here heard the story and believed it, too?'

Harry caught Theodore's eye and tried to tell him without words that this wasn't true, but the boy remained unfazed by Snape's divisive words. Harry knew what it must have cost him to try and find them in the dark, to warn them and he didn't know how he would ever repay his friend.

'I'm appalled,' said Professor Snape. 'Four students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Greengrass, I thought you had more sense. As for you, Mr. Potter, I thought you might at least try to behave. Mr. Nott, nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous. All three of you will receive detentions and fifty points will be taken from Slytherin.'

'Fifty?' Harry gasped.

'Fifty points each,' said Professor Snape, breathing heavily through his large, bulbous nose.

'Professor—please—'

'You can't—'

'Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Potter. It is your responsibility to earn them back. Now get back to bed, all of you. I've never been more ashamed of Slytherin students.'

A hundred and seventy points lost. That put Slytherin back in second behind Ravenclaw. How could they ever make up for this?

Harry didn't sleep all night. He could hear Nott tossing about anxiously for what seemed like hours. Harry couldn't think of anything to say to comfort him. He knew Theodore, like himself, was dreading the dawn. What would happen when the rest of Slytherin found out what they'd done?

At first, Slytherins passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the House points the next day thought there'd been a mistake. How could they suddenly have a hundred and seventy points fewer than yesterday? And then the story started to spread: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points, him and a couple of other stupid first years.

From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, Harry was suddenly the most hated. Students from other houses weren't as annoyed because it gave them a bid for the House Cup, but they still couldn't believe he'd failed so completely. Everywhere Harry went, people pointed and didn't trouble to lower their voices as they insulted him. Ravenclaws, on the other hand, clapped as he walked past them, whistling and cheering, 'Thanks Potter, we owe you one!'

Only Blaise stood by him.

'They'll all forget this in a few weeks. Flint's lost loads of points in all the time they've been here, and he's team captain.'

'He's never lost a hundred and fifty points in one go, though, has he?' said Harry miserably.

'Well—no,' Blaise admitted.

It was a bit late to repair the damage, but Harry swore to himself not to meddle in things that weren't his business from now on. He'd had it with sneaking around and spying. He felt so ashamed of himself that he went to Flint and offered to resign from the Quidditch team.

"Resign?" Flint thundered. "What good'll that do? How are we going to get any points back if we can't win at Quidditch?"

But even Quidditch had lost its fun. The rest of the team wouldn't speak to Harry during practice, and if they had to speak about him, they called him "the Seeker."

Daphne and Theodore were suffering, too. They didn't have as bad a time as Harry, because they weren't as well-known, but nobody would speak to them, either. Daphne had stopped drawing attention to herself in class, keeping her head down and working in silence. Harry was almost glad that the exams weren't far away. All the studying he had to do kept his mind off his misery. He, Ron, Blaise and the girls kept to themselves, working late into the night, trying to remember the ingredients in complicated potions, learn charms and spells by heart, memorise the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions…

Then, about a week before the exams were due to start, Harry's new resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern him was put to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library on his own one afternoon, he heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As he drew closer, he heard Quirrell's voice.

'No—no—not again, please—'

It sounded as though someone was threatening him. Harry moved closer.

'All right—all right—' he heard Quirrell sob.

Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode out of sight; Harry didn't think Quirrell had even noticed him. He waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end. Harry was halfway toward it before he remembered what he'd promised himself about not meddling.

All the same, he'd have gambled twelve Philosopher's Stones that Snape had just left the room, and from what Harry had just heard, Snape would be walking with a new spring in his step—Quirrell seemed to have given in at last.

Harry went back to the library, where Hermione was testing Ron on Astronomy. Harry told them what he'd heard.

'Snape's done it, then!' said Ron. 'If Quirrell's told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell—'

'There's still Fluffy, though,' said Hermione.

'Maybe Snape's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid,' said Ron, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them. 'I bet there's a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog. So what do we do, Harry?'

The light of adventure was kindling again in Ron's eyes, but Hermione answered before Harry could.

'Go to Dumbledore. That's what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure.'

'But we've got no proof!' said Harry. 'Quirrell's too scared to back us up. Snape's only got to say he doesn't know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor—who do you think they'll believe, him or us? It's not exactly a secret we hate him, Dumbledore'll think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn't help us if his life depended on it, he's too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better, he'll think. And don't forget, we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That'll take a lot of explaining.'

Hermione looked convinced, but Ron didn't.

'If we just do a bit of poking around—'

'No,' said Harry flatly, 'we've done enough poking around.'

He pulled a map of Jupiter toward him and started to learn the names of its moons.

The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry, Daphne, and Theodore at the breakfast table. They were all the same:

Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight.

Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.

Professor S. Snape

Harry had forgotten they still had detentions to do in the furor over the points they'd lost. He half expected Daphne to complain that this was a whole night of studying lost, but she didn't say a word. Like Harry, she felt they deserved what they'd got.

At eleven o'clock that night, they said good-bye to Blaise in the common room and went down to the entrance hall with Theodore. Filch was already there—and so was Malfoy. Harry had also forgotten that Malfoy had gotten a detention, too.

'Follow me,' said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

'I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?' he said, leering at them. 'Oh yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me… It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed… Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do.'

They marched off across the dark grounds. Nott kept his head down. Harry wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something really horrible, or Filch wouldn't be sounding so delighted.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Harry could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

'Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.'

Harry's heart rose; if they were going to be working with Hagrid it wouldn't be so bad. His relief must have showed in his face, because Filch said, 'I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy—it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece.'

At this, Nott let out a little moan, and Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks.

'The forest?' he repeated, and he didn't sound quite as cool as usual. 'We can't go in there at night—there's all sorts of things in there—werewolves, I heard.'

Daphne clutched the sleeve of Harry's robe and her jaw tightened.

'That's your problem, isn't it?' said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. 'Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?'

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

'Abou' time,' he said. 'I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Daphne?'

'I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid' said Filch coldly, 'they're here to be punished, after all.'

'That's why yer late, is it?' said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. 'Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here.'

'I'll be back at dawn,' said Filch, 'for what's left of them,' he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy now turned to Hagrid.

'I'm not going in that forest,' he said, and Harry was pleased to hear the note of panic in his voice.

'Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts,' said Hagrid fiercely. 'Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it.'

'But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd—'

'—tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts,' Hagrid growled. 'Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on!'

Malfoy didn't move. He looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his gaze.

'Right then,' said Hagrid, 'now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment.'

He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest.

'Look there,' said Hagrid, 'see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.'

'And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?' said Malfoy, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

'There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,' said Hagrid. 'An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least.'

'I want Fang,' said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.

'All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward,' said Hagrid. 'So me, Harry, an' Daphne'll go one way an' Draco, Theodore, an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now—that's it—an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh—so, be careful—let's go.'

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Harry, Daphne, and Hagrid took the left path while Malfoy, Theodore, and Fang took the right.

They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves.

Harry saw that Hagrid looked very worried.

'Could a werewolf be killing the unicorns?' Harry asked.

'Not fast enough,' said Hagrid. 'It's not easy ter catch a unicorn, they're powerful magic creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before.'

They walked past a mossy tree stump. Harry could hear running water; there must be a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

'You all right, Daphne?' Hagrid whispered. 'Don' worry, it can't've gone far if it's this badly hurt, an' then we'll be able ter—GET BEHIND THAT TREE!'

Hagrid seized Harry and Daphne and hoisted them off the path behind a towering oak. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The three of them listened. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

'I knew it,' he murmured. 'There's summat in here that shouldn' be.'

'A werewolf?' Harry suggested.

'That wasn' no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither,' said Hagrid grimly. 'Right, follow me, but careful, now.'

They walked more slowly, ears straining for the faintest sound. Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved.

'Who's there?' Hagrid called. 'Show yerself—I'm armed!'

And into the clearing came—was it a man, or a horse? To the waist, a man, with red hair and beard, but below that was a horse's gleaming chestnut body with a long, reddish tail. Harry and Daphne's jaws dropped.

'Oh, it's you, Ronan,' said Hagrid in relief. 'How are yeh?'

He walked forward and shook the centaur's hand.

'Good evening to you, Hagrid,' said Ronan. He had a deep, sorrowful voice. 'Were you going to shoot me?'

'Can't be too careful, Ronan,' said Hagrid, patting his crossbow. "There's summat bad loose in this forest. This is Harry Potter an' Daphne Greengrass, by the way. Students up at the school. An' this is Ronan, you two. He's a centaur.'

'We'd noticed,' said Daphne faintly.

'Good evening,' said Ronan. 'Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?'

'Erm—'

'A bit,' said Daphne timidly.

'A bit. Well, that's something.' Ronan sighed. He flung back his head and stared at the sky. 'Mars is bright tonight.'

'Yeah,' said Hagrid, glancing up, too. 'Listen, I'm glad we've run inter yeh, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt—you seen anythin'?'

Ronan didn't answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upward, then sighed again.

'Always the innocent are the first victims,' he said. 'So it has been for ages past, so it is now.'

'Yeah,' said Hagrid, 'but have yeh seen anythin', Ronan? Anythin' unusual?'

'Mars is bright tonight,' Ronan repeated, while Hagrid watched him impatiently. 'Unusually bright.'

'Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer home,' said Hagrid. 'So yeh haven't noticed anythin' strange?'

Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said, 'The forest hides many secrets.'

A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hagrid raise his bow again, but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and -bodied and wilder-looking than Ronan.

'Hullo, Bane,' said Hagrid. 'All right?'

'Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?'

'Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Ronan, you seen anythin' odd in here lately? There's a unicorn bin injured—would yeh know anythin' about it?'

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skyward.

'Mars is bright tonight,' he said simply.

'We've heard,' said Hagrid grumpily. 'Well, if either of you do see anythin', let me know, won't yeh? We'll be off, then.'

Harry and Daphne followed him out of the clearing, staring over their shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view.

'Never,' said Hagrid irritably, 'try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the moon.'

'Are there many of them in here?' asked Daphne.

'Oh, a fair few… Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they're good enough about turnin' up if ever I want a word. They're deep, mind, centaurs… they know things… jus' don' let on much.'

'D'you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?' said Harry.

'Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what's bin killin' the unicorns—never heard anythin' like it before.'

They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Harry kept looking nervously over his shoulder. He had the nasty feeling they were being watched. He was very glad they had Hagrid and his crossbow with them. They had just passed a bend in the path when Daphne grabbed Hagrid's arm.

'Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!'

'You two wait here!' Hagrid shouted. 'Stay on the path, I'll come back for yeh!'

They heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking at each other, very scared, until they couldn't hear anything but the rustling of leaves around them.

'You don't think they've been hurt, do you?' whispered Daphne.

'I don't care if Malfoy has, but if something's got Theodore… it's our fault he's here in the first place.'

The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Harry's seemed to be picking up every sigh of the wind, every cracking twig. What was going on? Where were the others?

At last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return. Malfoy, Theodore, and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Nott and grabbed him as a joke. Theodore had panicked and sent up the sparks.

'We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'. Right, we're changin' groups—Theodore, you stay with me an' Daphne, Harry, you go with Fang an' this idiot. I'm sorry,' Hagrid added in a whisper to Harry, 'but he'll have a harder time frightenin' you, an' we've gotta get this done.'

So Harry set off into the heart of the forest with Malfoy and Fang. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

'Look—' he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Harry had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered… Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy, and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.

'AAAAAAAAAAARGH!'

Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted—so did Fang. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry—unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly toward Harry—he couldn't move for fear. Then a pain like he'd never felt before pierced his head; it was as though his scar were on fire. Half blinded, he staggered backward. He heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over Harry, charging at the figure.

The pain in Harry's head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took a minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure had gone. A centaur was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

'Are you all right?' said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet.

'Yes—thank you—what was that?'

The centaur didn't answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar that stood out, livid, on Harry's forehead.

'You are the Potter boy,' he said. 'You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time—especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way.'

'My name is Firenze,' he added, as he lowered himself onto his front legs so that Harry could clamber onto his back.

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

'Firenze!' Bane thundered. 'What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?'

'Do you realize who this is?' said Firenze. 'This is the Potter boy. The quicker he leaves this forest, the better.'

'What have you been telling him?' growled Bane. 'Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?'

Ronan pawed the ground nervously. 'I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best,' he said in his gloomy voice.

Bane kicked his back legs in anger.

'For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!'

Firenze suddenly reared onto his hind legs in anger, so that Harry had to grab his shoulders to stay on.

'Do you not see that unicorn?' Firenze bellowed at Bane. 'Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must.'

And Firenze whisked around; with Harry clutching on as best he could, they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

Harry didn't have a clue what was going on.

'Why's Bane so angry?' he asked. 'What was that thing you saved me from, anyway?'

Firenze slowed to a walk, warned Harry to keep his head bowed in case of low-hanging branches, but did not answer Harry's question. They made their way through the trees in silence for so long that Harry thought Firenze didn't want to talk to him anymore. They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped.

'Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?'

'No,' said Harry, startled by the odd question. 'We've only used the horn and tail hair in Potions.'

'That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,' said Firenze. 'Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips.'

Harry stared at the back of Firenze's head, which was dappled silver in the moonlight.

'But who'd be that desperate?' he wondered aloud. 'If you're going to be cursed forever, death's better, isn't it?'

'It is,' Firenze agreed, 'unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else—something that will bring you back to full strength and power—something that will mean you can never die. Mr. Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?'

'The Philosopher's Stone! Of course—the Elixir of Life! But I don't understand who—'

'Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?'

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry's heart. Over the rustling of the trees, his mind was cast back to what Sirius had told him: 'Some say he died. Nonsense, in my opinion. Don't know if he had enough human left in him to die.'

'Do you mean,' Harry croaked, 'that was Vol—'

'Harry! Harry, are you all right?'

Daphne was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her.

'I'm fine,' said Harry, hardly knowing what he was saying. 'The unicorns dead, Hagrid, it's in that clearing back there.'

'This is where I leave you,' Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn. 'You are safe now.'

Harry slid off his back.

'Good luck, Harry Potter,' said Firenze. 'The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times.'

He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry shivering behind him.

Blaise had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. He shouted something about Quidditch fouls when Harry roughly shook him awake. In a matter of seconds, though, he was wide-eyed as Harry began to tell him and Daphne what had happened in the forest.

Harry couldn't sit down. He paced up and down in front of the fire. He was still shaking.

'Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort… and Voldemort's waiting in the forest… and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich…'

'Stop saying the name!' said Blaise in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them.

Harry wasn't listening.

'Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done so… Bane was furious… he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen… They must show that Voldemort's coming back… Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me… I suppose that's written in the stars as well.'

'Will you stop saying the name!' Blaise hissed.

'So all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone,' Harry went on feverishly, 'then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off… Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy.'

Daphne looked very frightened, but she had a word of comfort.

'Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor Snape says that's a very imprecise branch of magic.'

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They went to bed exhausted, their throats sore. But the night's surprises weren't over.

When Harry pulled back his sheets, he found his Invisibility Cloak folded neatly underneath them. There was a note pinned to it:

Just in case.


	16. Through The Trapdoor

In years to come, Harry would never quite remember how he had managed to get through his exams when he half expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by, and there could be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.

It was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell. They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox—points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion.

Harry did the best he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his forehead, which had been bothering him ever since his trip into the forest. Nott thought Harry had a bad case of exam nerves because Harry couldn’t sleep, but the truth was that Harry kept being woken by his old nightmare, except that it was now worse than ever because there was a hooded figure dripping blood in it.

Maybe it was because they hadn’t seen what Harry had seen in the forest, or because they didn’t have scars burning on their foreheads, but the others didn’t seem as worried about the Stone as Harry. The idea of Voldemort certainly scared them, but he didn’t keep visiting them in dreams, and they were so busy with their studying they didn’t have much time to fret about what Snape or anyone else might be up to.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who’d invented self-stirring cauldrons and they’d be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harry couldn’t help cheering with the rest.

‘That was far easier than I thought it would be,’ said Daphne as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. ‘I needn’t have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager.’

Hermione and Daphne always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Ron and Blaise said this made them feel ill, so they all wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which was basking in the warm shallows.

‘No more studying,’ Ron sighed happily, stretching out on the grass. ‘You could look more cheerful, Harry, we’ve got a week before we find out how badly we’ve done, there’s no need to worry yet.’

Harry was rubbing his forehead.

‘I wish I knew what this means!’ he burst out angrily. ‘My scar keeps hurting—it’s happened before, but never as often as this.’

‘Go to Madam Pomfrey,’ Hermione suggested.

‘I’m not ill,’ said Harry. ‘I think it’s a warning… it means danger’s coming…’

Ron couldn’t get worked up, it was too hot.

‘Harry, relax, Hermione’s right, the Stone’s safe as long as Dumbledore’s around. Anyway, we’ve never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he’s not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville Longbottom will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down.’

Harry nodded, but he couldn’t shake off a lurking feeling that there was something he’d forgotten to do, something important. When he tried to explain this, Hermione said, ‘That’s just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we’d done that one.’

Harry was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn’t have anything to do with work, though. He watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluffy… never… but—

Harry suddenly jumped to his feet.

‘Where’re you going?’ said Daphne sleepily.

‘I’ve just thought of something,’ said Harry. He had turned white. ‘We’ve got to go and see Hagrid, now.’

‘Why?’ panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,’ said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope, ‘that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it’s against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think? Why didn’t I see it before?’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Ron, but Harry, sprinting across the grounds toward the forest, didn’t answer.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

‘Hullo,’ he said, smiling. ‘Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Ron, but Harry cut him off.

‘No, we’re in a hurry. Hagrid, I’ve got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?’

‘Dunno,’ said Hagrid casually, ‘he wouldn’ take his cloak off.’

He saw the three of them look stunned and raised his eyebrows.

‘It’s not that unusual, yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s Head—that’s one o’ the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn’ he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.’

Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas.

‘What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?’

‘Mighta come up,’ said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. ‘Yeah… he asked what I did, an’ I told him I was gamekeeper here… He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after… so I told him… an’ I said what I’d always really wanted was a dragon… an’ then… I can’ remember too well, ’cause he kept buyin’ me drinks… Let’s see… yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an’ we could play cards fer it if I wanted… but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn’ want it ter go ter any old home… So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…’

‘And did he—did he seem interested in Fluffy?’ Harry asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

‘Well—yeah—how many three-headed dogs d’yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy’s a piece o’ cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus’ play him a bit o’ music an’ he’ll go straight off ter sleep—‘

Hagrid suddenly looked horrified.

‘I shouldn’ta told yeh that!’ he blurted out. ‘Forget I said it! Hey—where’re yeh goin’?’

The five didn’t speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the entrance hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy after the grounds.

‘We’ve got to go to Dumbledore,’ said Harry. ‘Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak—it must’ve been easy, once he’d got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn’t stop him. Where’s Dumbledore’s office?’

They looked around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to see him.

‘We’ll just have to-‘ Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

‘What are you three doing inside?’

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

‘We want to see Professor Dumbledore,’ said Hermione, rather bravely, Harry and Ron thought.

‘See Professor Dumbledore?’ Professor McGonagall repeated, as though this was a very fishy thing to want to do. ‘Why?’

Harry swallowed—now what?

‘It’s sort of secret,’ he said, but he wished at once he hadn’t, because Professor McGonagall’s nostrils flared.

‘Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago,’ she said coldly. ‘He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once.’

‘He’s gone?’ said Daphne frantically. ‘Now?’

‘Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Miss Greengrass, he has many demands on his time—‘

‘But this is important.’

‘Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic?’

‘Look,’ said Harry, throwing caution to the winds, ‘Professor—it’s about the Philosopher’s Stone—‘

Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn’t that. The books she was carrying tumbled out of her arms, but she didn’t pick them up.

‘How do you know—?’ she spluttered.

‘Professor, I think—I know—that Sn—that someone’s going to try and steal the Stone. I’ve got to talk to Professor Dumbledore.’

She eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

‘Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow,’ she said finally. ‘I don’t know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it’s too well protected.’

‘But Professor—‘

‘Potter, I know what I’m talking about,’ she said shortly. She bent down and gathered up the fallen books. ‘I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine.’

But they didn’t.

‘It’s tonight,’ said Harry, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. ‘Snape’s going through the trapdoor tonight. He’s found out everything he needs, and now he’s got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up.’

‘But what can we—‘

Hermione gasped. Daphne and the boys wheeled round.

Snape was standing there.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said smoothly.

They stared at him.

‘You shouldn’t be inside on a day like this,’ he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

‘We were—‘ Harry began, without any idea what he was going to say.

‘You want to be more careful,’ said Snape. ‘Hanging around like this, people will think you’re up to something. And Slytherin really can’t afford to lose any more points, can it, Potter?’

Harry flushed. They turned to go outside, but Snape called them back.

‘Be warned, Potter—any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you.’

He strode off in the direction of the staffroom.

Out on the stone steps, Harry turned to the others.

‘Right, here’s what we’ve got to do,’ he whispered urgently. ‘One of us has got to keep an eye on Snape—wait outside the staffroom and follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, you’d better do that.’

‘Why me?’

‘It’s obvious,’ said Ron. ‘You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know.’ He put on a high voice, ‘Oh Professor Flitwick, I’m so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong…’

‘Oh, shut up,’ said Hermione, but she agreed to go and watch out for Snape.

‘Blaise, you’d best go on with your day and cover for us if you can. And Daphne, Ron and I better stay outside the third-floor corridor,’ Harry told them. ‘Come on.’

But that part of the plan didn’t work. No sooner had they reached the door separating Fluffy from the rest of the school than Professor McGonagall turned up again and this time, she lost her temper.

‘I suppose you think you’re harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!’ she stormed. ‘Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you’ve come anywhere near here again, I’ll take fifty points from each of you! Yes, Weasley, even from my own House!’

Harry and Daphne went back to the common room to find Blaise, promising to keep Ron informed by owl. Harry had just said, ‘At least Hermione’s on Snape’s tail.’

The words had barely left his mouth when Hedwig flew through the window holding a note, it read: 

It’s a long story, I’ll explain later, but I lost Snape. I’m sorry, guys. Let me know the plan. 

Hermione.

‘Well, that’s it then, isn’t it?’ Harry said.

The other two stared at him. He was pale and his eyes were glittering.

‘I’m going out of here tonight and I’m going to try and get to the Stone first.’

‘You’re mad!’ said Blaise.

‘You can’t!’ said Daphne. ‘After what Snape has said? You’ll be expelled!’

‘SO WHAT?’ Harry shouted. ‘Don’t you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort’s coming back! Haven’t you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won’t be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He’ll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! It doesn’t matter anymore, can’t you see? D’you think he’ll leave us and your families anyway? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I’ll have to go back home and wait for Voldemort to find me and my family there, its only dying a bit later than I would have, because I’m never going over to the Dark Side! I’m going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you two say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?’

He glared at them.

‘You’re right, Harry,’ said Daphne in a small voice.

‘I’ll use the Invisibility Cloak,’ said Harry. ‘It’s just lucky I got it back.’

‘But will it cover all three of us?’ said Blaise.

‘All—all three of us?’

‘Oh, come off it, you don’t think we’d let you go alone?’

‘Of course not,’ said Daphne briskly. ‘How do you think you’d get to the Stone without us? I’d better go and look through my books, there might be something useful…’

‘But if we get caught, you two will be expelled, too.’

‘Not if I can help it,’ said Daphne grimly. ’Professor Binns told me in secret that I got a hundred and nine percent on his exam. They’re not throwing me out after that.’

After dinner, the three of them met up with Ron and Hermione in the study room, luckily empty, to discuss the plan. They realised that three Slytherins gone would draw attention, so Blaise agreed to stay in his dorm and Ron would come instead. They split to return to their common rooms, agreeing that it was safest for them to collect Ron from Gryffindor Tower with the cloak, especially with McGonagall on the lookout for trouble.

Daphne was skimming through all her notes, hoping to come across one of the enchantments they were about to try to break. Harry and Blaise didn’t talk much. Slowly, the room emptied as people drifted off to bed.

‘Better get the cloak,’ Blaise muttered, as Adrian Pucey finally left, stretching and yawning. Harry ran over to their dark dormitory. He pulled out the cloak and then his eyes fell on the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. He pocketed it to use on Fluffy—he didn’t feel much like singing.

He ran back down the hallway to the common room.

‘We’d better put the cloak on here. If Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own—‘

‘What are you doing?’ said a voice from the corner of the room. Theodore appeared from behind an armchair, with a mixture of anger and concern on his face.

‘Nothing, Theo, nothing,’ said Harry, hurriedly putting the cloak behind his back.

Theodore stared at their guilty faces.

‘You’re going out again,’ he said.

‘No, no, no,’ said Daphne. ‘No, we’re not. Why don’t you go to bed, Theo?’

Harry looked at the grandfather clock by the door. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.

‘You can’t go out,’ said Theodore, ‘you’ll be caught again. Slytherin will lose even more points and we won’t win the House Cup. You’ll be to blame, maybe I should leave you to it.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Harry, ‘this is important.’

But Theodore was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate.

‘I won’t let you get away with it,’ he said, hurrying to stand in front of the entrance wall. ‘I’ll go and find Gemma Farley and tell her what you’re planning!’

‘Nott!’ Blaise exploded, ‘get away from that wall and don’t be an idiot—‘

‘Don’t you call me an idiot, Zabini!’ said Theodore. ‘I don’t think you should be breaking any more rules! And I got in trouble for trying to help you last time!’

‘Yes, so maybe you shouldn’t try it again,’ said Blaise in exasperation. ‘Nott, you don’t know what you’re doing.’

He took a step forward and Theodore arched his eyebrow.

‘Go on then, try and hit me!’ said Nott, raising his fists. ‘I’m ready!’

Harry turned to Daphne.

‘Do something,’ he said desperately.

Daphne stepped forward.

‘Theo,’ she said, ‘I’m really, really sorry about this.’

She raised her wand.

‘Petrificus Totalus!’ she cried, pointing it at Theodore.

Theo’s arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board. Daphne ran to turn him over. Theodore’s jaws were jammed together so he couldn’t speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.

‘What’ve you done to him?’ Harry whispered

‘It’s the full Body-Bind,’ said Daphne miserably. ‘Oh, Theo, I’m so sorry. Blaise will keep you company until we come back.’

‘We had to, Theo, no time to explain,’ said Harry.

‘You’ll understand later,’ said Blaise as he watched Harry and Daphne stepped over him and pulled on the Invisibility Cloak.

But leaving Theodore lying motionless on the floor, even with Blaise to keep him safe, didn’t feel like a very good omen. In their nervous state, every statue’s shadow looked like Filch, every distant breath of wind sounded like Peeves swooping down on them.

On their way down from Gryffindor Tower, they spotted Mrs. Norris skulking near the top.

‘Oh, let’s kick her, just this once,’ Ron whispered in Harry’s ear, but Harry shook his head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs. Norris turned her lamplike eyes on them, but didn’t do anything. They didn’t meet anyone else until they reached the staircase to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.

‘Who’s there?’ he said suddenly as they climbed toward him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. ‘Know you’re there, even if I can’t see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?’

He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them.

‘Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen.’

Harry had a sudden idea.

‘Peeves,’ he said, in a hoarse whisper, ‘the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.’

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

‘So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir,’ he said greasily. ‘My mistake, my mistake—I didn’t see you—of course I didn’t, you’re invisible—forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir.’

‘I have business here, Peeves,’ croaked Harry. ‘Stay away from this place tonight.’

‘I will, sir, I most certainly will,’ said Peeves, rising up in the air again. ‘Hope your business goes well, Baron, I’ll not bother you.’

And he scooted off.

‘Quick thinking, Harry!’ whispered Daphne.

A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor—and the door was already ajar.

‘Well, there you are,’ Harry said quietly, ‘Snape’s already got past Fluffy.’

Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all three of them what was facing them. Underneath the cloak, Harry turned to the other two.

‘If you want to go back, I won’t blame you,’ he said. ‘You can take the cloak, I won’t need it now.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Ron.

‘We’re coming,’ said Daphne.

Harry pushed the door open. As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog’s noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn’t see them.

‘What’s that at its feet?’ Daphne whispered.

‘Looks like a harp,’ said Ron. ‘Snape must have left it there.’

’It must wake up the moment you stop playing,’ said Harry. ‘Well, here goes…’

He put Hagrid’s flute to his lips and blew. It wasn’t really a tune, but from the first note the beast’s eyes began to droop. Harry hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog’s growls ceased—it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

‘Keep playing,’ Ron warned Harry as they slipped out of the cloak and crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog’s hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.

‘I think we’ll be able to pull the door open,’ said Ron, peering over the dog’s back. “Want to go first, Daphne?”

‘Do you think I’m stupid, Weasley?’

‘All right.’ Ron gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog’s legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.

‘What can you see?’ Daphne said anxiously.

‘Nothing—just black—there’s no way of climbing down, we’ll just have to drop.’

Harry, who was still playing the flute, waved at Ron to get his attention and pointed at himself.

‘You want to go first? Are you sure?’ said Ron. ‘I don’t know how deep this thing goes. Give the flute to Daphne so she can keep him asleep.’

Harry handed the flute over. In the few seconds’ silence, the dog growled and twitched, but the moment Daphne began to play, it fell back into its deep sleep.

Harry climbed over it and looked down through the trapdoor. There was no sign of the bottom. He lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his fingertips. Then he looked up at Ron and said, ‘If anything happens to me, don’t follow. Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, right?’

‘Right,’ said Ron.

‘See you in a minute, I hope…’

And Harry let go. Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down and— FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump he landed on something soft. He sat up and felt around, his eyes not used to the gloom. It felt as though he was sitting on some sort of plant.

‘It’s okay!’ he called up to the light the size of a postage stamp, which was the open trapdoor, ‘it’s a soft landing, you can jump!’

Ron followed right away. He landed, sprawled next to Harry.

‘What’s this stuff?’ were his first words.

‘Dunno, some sort of plant thing. I suppose it’s here to break the fall. Come on, Daph!’

The distant music stopped. There was a loud bark from the dog, but Daphne had already jumped. She landed on Harry’s other side.

‘We must be miles under the school,’ she said.

‘Lucky this plant thing’s here, really,’ said Ron.

‘Lucky!’ shrieked Daphne. ‘Look at you both!’

She leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall. She had to struggle because the moment she had landed, the plant had started to twist snakelike tendrils around her ankles. As for Harry and Ron, their legs had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing. Daphne had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on her. Now she watched in horror as the two boys fought to pull the plant off them, but the more they strained against it, the tighter and faster the plant wound around them.

‘Stop moving!’ Daphne ordered them. ‘I know what this is—it’s Devil’s Snare!’

‘Oh, I’m so glad we know what it’s called, that’s a great help,’ snarled Ron, leaning back, trying to stop the plant from curling around his neck.

‘Shut up, I’m trying to remember how to kill it!’ said Daphne.

‘Well, hurry up, I can’t breathe!’ Harry gasped, wrestling with it as it curled around his chest.

‘Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare… what did Professor Sprout say?—it likes the dark and the damp—‘

‘So light a fire!’ Harry choked.

‘Yes—of course—but there’s no wood!’ Daphne cried, wringing her hands.

‘HAVE YOU GONE MAD?’ Ron bellowed. ‘ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?’

‘Oh, right!’ said Daphne, and she whipped out her wand, waved it, recited the incantation, and sent a jet of the same bluebell flames she had used on Snape at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the two boys felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies, and they were able to pull free.

‘Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Daphne’” said Harry as he joined her by the wall, wiping sweat off his face.

‘Yeah,’ said Ron, ‘and lucky Harry doesn’t lose his head in a crisis—‘there’s no wood,’ honestly.’

‘This way,’ said Harry, pointing down a stone passageway, which was the only way forward.

All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, and Harry was reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart, he remembered the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards’ bank. If they met a dragon, a fully-grown dragon—Norbert had been bad enough…

‘Can you hear something?’ Ron whispered.

Harry listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

‘Do you think it’s a ghost?’

‘I don’t know… sounds like wings to me.’

‘There’s light ahead—I can see something moving.’

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

‘Do you think they’ll attack us if we cross the room?’ said Ron.

‘Probably,’ said Harry. ‘They don’t look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once… well, there’s no other choice… I’ll run.’

‘Wait, you idiot! They’re not just there for the sake of it! Look!’ Daphne exclaimed, grabbing each boy by their sleeve and yanking them back. ‘They’re keys! Winged keys! So, one of them must unlock that door, you can’t do it with a charm, of course!’

’But what do we do?’ asked Ron.

‘Stood beside you, Weasley, is the best seeker in decades. I’m sure he can catch a key without too much trouble! Come on, there are broomsticks over there.’

‘But there are hundreds of them!’ said Harry.

‘Look at the lock! We’re looking for a big, old-fashioned one—probably silver, like the handle,’ interjected Ron.

They each seized a broomstick and kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. They grabbed and snatched, but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one. Not for nothing, though, was Harry the youngest Seeker in a century. He had a knack for spotting things other people didn’t. After a minute’s weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, he noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

‘That one!’ he called to the others. ‘That big one—there—no, there—with bright blue wings—the feathers are all crumpled on one side.’

Ron went speeding in the direction that Harry was pointing, crashed into the ceiling, and nearly fell off his broom.

‘We’ve got to close in on it!’ Harry called, not taking his eyes off the key with the damaged wing. ‘Ron, you come at it from above—Daphne, stay below and stop it from going down—and I’ll try and catch it. Right, NOW!’

Ron dived, Daphne rocketed upward, the key dodged them both, and Harry streaked after it; it sped toward the wall, Harry leaned forward and with a nasty, crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand. Ron and Daphne’s cheers echoed around the high chamber.

They landed quickly, and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned—it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

‘Ready?’ Harry asked the other two, his hand on the door handle. They nodded. He pulled the door open.

The next chamber was so dark they couldn’t see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight. They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Harry, Ron and Daphne shivered slightly—the towering white chessmen had no faces.

‘Now what do we do?’ Harry whispered.

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ said Ron. ‘We’ve got to play our way across the room.’

Behind the white pieces they could see another door.

‘But, how?’ said Daphne nervously.

‘I think,’ said Ron, ‘we’re going to have to be chessmen.’

He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knights horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

‘Do we—er—have to join you to get across?’

The black knight nodded. Ron turned to the other two.

‘This needs thinking about…’ he said. ‘I suppose we’ve got to take the place of three of the black pieces…’

Harry and Daphne stayed quiet, watching Ron think. Finally he said, ‘Now, don’t be offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess—‘

‘We’re not offended,’ said Harry quickly. ‘Just tell us what to do.’

‘Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop, and Daphne, you go there instead of that castle.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’m going to be a knight,’ said Ron.

The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words a knight, a bishop, and a castle turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board, leaving three empty squares that Harry, Ron, and Daphne took.

‘White always plays first in chess,’ said Ron, peering across the board. ‘Yes… look…’

A white pawn had moved forward two squares. Ron started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Harry’s knees were trembling. What if they lost?

‘Harry—move diagonally four squares to the right.’

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, facedown.

‘Had to let that happen,’ said Ron, looking shaken. ‘Leaves you free to take that bishop, Daphne, go on.’

Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed in time that Harry and Daphne were in danger. He himself darted around the board, taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

‘We’re nearly there,’ he muttered suddenly. ‘Let me think—let me think…’

The white queen turned her blank face toward him.

‘Yes…’ said Ron softly, ‘it’s the only way… I’ve got to be taken.’

‘NO!’ Harry shouted.

‘That’s chess!’ snapped Ron. ‘You’ve got to make some sacrifices! I make my move and she’ll take me—that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!’

‘But—‘

‘Do you want to stop Snape or not?’

‘Ron—‘

‘Look, if you don’t hurry up, he’ll already have the Stone!’

There was no alternative.

‘Ready?’ Ron called, his face pale but determined. ‘Here I go—now, don’t hang around once you’ve won.’

He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor—Daphne drew in a harsh breath but stayed on her square—the white queen dragged Ron to one side. He looked as if he’d been knocked out. Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left. The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry’s feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. 

With one last desperate look back at Ron, Harry and Daphne charged through the door and up the next passageway.

‘What if he’s—?’

‘He’ll be all right,’ said Daphne, trying to convince herself. ‘What do you reckon’s next? We’ve had Sprout’s, that was the Devils Snare; Flitwick must’ve put charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive; that leaves Quirrell’s spell, and Snape’s…’

They had reached another door.

‘All right?’ Harry whispered.

‘Go on.’

Harry pushed it open.

A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making both of them pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

‘I’m glad we didn’t have to fight that one,’ Harry whispered as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs. ‘Come on, I can’t breathe.’

He pulled open the next door, both of them hardly daring to look at what came next—but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

‘Snape’s,’ said Harry. ‘What do we have to do?’

They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn’t ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.

‘Look!’ Daphne seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry looked over her shoulder to read it:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Daphne let out a great sigh and Harry, amazed, saw that she was smiling, the very last thing he felt like doing.

‘Brilliant,’ said Daphne. “This isn’t even magic—it’s logic, a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic, they’d be stuck in here forever.’

‘But so will we, won’t we?’

‘Of course not,’ said Daphne. ‘It’s like a riddle, Hermione’s shown me a few. Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple.’

‘But how do we know which to drink?’

‘Give me a minute.’ Daphne read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she clapped her hands. ’Got it! The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire—toward the Stone.’

Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

‘There’s only enough there for one of us,’ he said. ‘That’s hardly one swallow.’

They looked at each other.

‘Which one will get you back through the purple flames?’

Daphne pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

‘You drink that,’ said Harry. ‘Get back and get Ron. Grab brooms from the flying-key room, they’ll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy—go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I’m no match for him, really.’

‘But Harry—what if You-Know-Who’s with him?’

‘Well—I was lucky once, wasn’t I?’ said Harry, pointing at his scar. ‘I might get lucky again.’

Daphne’s lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

‘Daphne!’

‘Harry—you’re a great wizard, you know.’

‘I’m not as good as you,’ said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him.

‘Me!’ said Daphne. ‘Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship and bravery and—oh Harry—be careful!’

‘You drink first,’ said Harry. ‘You are sure which is which, aren’t you?’

‘Positive,’ said Daphne. She took a long drink from the round bottle at the end, and shuddered.

‘It’s not poison?’ said Harry anxiously.

‘No—but it’s like ice.’

‘Quick, go, before it wears off.’

‘Good luck—take care—‘

‘GO!’

Daphne turned and walked straight through the purple fire. Harry took a deep breath and picked up the smallest bottle. He turned to face the black flames.

‘Here I come,’ he said, and he drained the little bottle in one gulp.

It was indeed as though ice was flooding his body. He put the bottle down and walked forward; he braced himself, saw the black flames licking his body, but couldn’t feel them—for a moment he could see nothing but dark fire—then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there—but it wasn’t Snape. It wasn’t even Voldemort.


	17. The Man With Two Faces

It was Quirrell.

‘You!’ gasped Harry.

Quirrell smiled. His face wasn’t twitching at all.

‘Me,’ he said calmly. ‘I wondered whether I’d be meeting you here, Potter.’

‘But I thought—Snape—‘

‘Severus?’ Quirrell laughed, and it wasn’t his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. ‘Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn’t he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?’

Harry couldn’t take it in. This couldn’t be true, it couldn’t.

‘But Snape tried to kill me!’

‘No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I’d have got you off that broom. I’d have managed it before then if Snape hadn’t been muttering a countercurse, trying to save you.’

‘Snape was trying to save me?’

‘Of course,’ said Quirrell coolly. ‘Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn’t do it again. Funny, really… he needn’t have bothered. I couldn’t do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to bias the game, he did make himself unpopular… and what a waste of time, when after all that, I’m going to kill you tonight.’

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry.

‘You’re too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you’d seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone.’

‘You let the troll in?’

‘Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls—you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off—and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn’t even manage to bite Snape’s leg off properly. Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror.’

It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

‘This mirror is the key to finding the Stone,’ Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. ‘Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this… but he’s in London… I’ll be far away by the time he gets back…’

All Harry could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror.

‘I saw you and Snape in the forest—‘ he blurted out.

‘Yes,’ said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. ‘He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I’d got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me—as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side…’

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

‘I see the Stone… I’m presenting it to my master… but where is it?’

Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn’t give. He had to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.

‘But Snape always seemed to hate me so much.’

‘Oh, he does,’ said Quirrell casually, ‘heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn’t you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead.’

‘But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing—I thought Snape was threatening you.’

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell’s face.

‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘I find it hard to follow my master’s instructions—he is a great wizard and I am weak—‘

‘You mean he was there in the classroom with you?”’Harry gasped.

‘He is with me wherever I go,’ said Quirrell quietly. ‘I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it… Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me.’ Quirrell shivered suddenly. ‘He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me… decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me…’

Quirrell’s voice trailed away. Harry was remembering his trip to Diagon Alley—how could he have been so stupid? He’d seen Quirrell there that very day, shaken hands with him in the Leaky Cauldron.

Quirrell cursed under his breath.

‘I don’t understand… is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?’

Harry’s mind was racing.

What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it—which means I’ll see where it’s hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I’m up to?

He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself.

‘What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!’

And to Harry’s horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

‘Use the boy… Use the boy…’

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

‘Yes—Potter—come here.’

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.

‘Come here,’ Quirrell repeated. ‘Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.’

Harry walked toward him.

I must lie, he thought desperately. I must look and lie about what I see, that’s all.

Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell’s turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket—and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow—incredibly—he’d gotten the Stone.

‘Well?’ said Quirrell impatiently. ‘What do you see?’

Harry screwed up his courage.

‘I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore,’ he invented. ‘I—I’ve won the House Cup for Slytherin.’

Quirrell cursed again.

‘Get out of the way,’ he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the Sorcerer’s Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it?

But he hadn’t walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn’t moving his lips.

‘He lies… He lies…’

‘Potter, come back here!’ Quirrell shouted. ‘Tell me the truth! What did you just see?’

The high voice spoke again.

‘Let me speak to him… face-to-face…’

‘Master, you are not strong enough!’

‘I have strength enough… for this…’

Harry felt as if Devil’s Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn’t move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell’s head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Harry would have screamed, but he couldn’t make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell’s head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

‘Harry Potter…’ it whispered.

Harry tried to take a step backward but his legs wouldn’t move.

‘See what I have become?’ the face said. ‘Mere shadow and vapor… I have form only when I can share another’s body… but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds… Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks… you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest… and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own… Now… why don’t you give me that Stone in your pocket?’

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry’s legs. He stumbled backward.

‘Don’t be a fool,’ snarled the face. ‘Better save your own life and join me… or you’ll meet the same end as your parents… They died begging me for mercy…’

‘LIAR!’ Harry shouted suddenly.

Quirrell was walking backward at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.

‘How touching…’ it hissed. ‘I always value bravery… Yes, boy, your parents were brave… I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight… but your mother needn’t have died… she was trying to protect you… Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain.’

‘NEVER!’

Harry sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed ‘SEIZE HIM!’ and the next second, Harry felt Quirrell’s hand close on his wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Harry’s scar; his head felt as though it was about to split in two; he yelled, struggling with all his might, and to his surprise, Quirrell let go of him. The pain in his head lessened—he looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers—they were blistering before his eyes.

‘Seize him! SEIZE HIM!’ shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet, landing on top of him, both hands around Harry’s neck—Harry’s scar was almost blinding him with pain, yet he could see Quirrell howling in agony.

‘Master, I cannot hold him—my hands—my hands!’

And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms—Harry could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

‘Then kill him, fool, and be done!’ screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell’s face—

‘AAAARGH!’

Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn’t touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain—his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.

Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off—the pain in Harry’s head was building—he couldn’t see—he could only hear Quirrell’s terrible shrieks and Voldemort’s yells of, ‘KILL HIM! KILL HIM!’ and other voices, maybe in Harry’s own head, crying, ‘Harry! Harry!’

He felt Quirrell’s arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down… down… down…

Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy.

He blinked. It wasn’t the Snitch at all. It was a pair of glasses. How strange.

He blinked again. The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him.

‘Good afternoon, Harry,’ said Dumbledore.

Harry stared at him. Then he remembered: ‘Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He’s got the Stone! Sir, quick—‘

‘Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Quirrell does not have the Stone.’

‘Then who does? Sir, I—‘

‘Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out. She’s already sent your guardians packing after they got far too flustered and she told them that they were distracting the other patients. Nevertheless, they remain sat in my office, waiting to see you as soon as they can.’

Harry swallowed and looked around him. He realized he must be in the hospital wing. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to him was a table piled high with what looked like half the candy shop. Sirius and Remus were here, at Hogwarts. 

‘Tokens from your friends and admirers, and from your family, of course.’ said Dumbledore, beaming. ‘What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it.’

‘How long have I been in here?’

‘Three days. Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Greengrass will be most relieved you have come round, they have been extremely worried. As have Miss Granger and Mr Zabini.’

‘But sir, the Stone—‘

‘I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say.’

‘You got there? You got Daphne’s owl?’

‘We must have crossed in midair. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you—‘

‘It was you.’

‘I feared I might be too late.’

‘You nearly were, I couldn’t have kept him off the Stone much longer—‘

‘Not the Stone, boy, you—the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed.’

‘Destroyed?’ said Harry blankly. ‘But your friend—Nicolas Flamel—‘

‘Oh, you know about Nicolas?’ said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. ‘You did do the thing properly, didn’t you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat, and agreed it’s all for the best.’

‘But that means he and his wife will die, won’t they?’

‘They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die.’

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry’s face.

‘To one as young as you, I’m sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all—the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them.’

Harry lay there, lost for words. Dumbledore hummed a little and smiled at the ceiling.

‘Sir?’ said Harry. ‘I’ve been thinking… Sir—even if the Stone’s gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who—‘

‘Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.’

‘Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort’s going to try other ways of coming back, isn’t he? I mean, he hasn’t gone, has he?’

‘No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share… not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time—and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power.’

Harry nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made his head hurt. Then he said, ‘Sir, there are some other things I’d like to know, if you can tell me… things I want to know the truth about…’

‘The truth.’ Dumbledore sighed. ‘It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you’ll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie. And even that which I cannot tell you, you can perhaps ask your godfather or your uncle, or even one of your friends. There are many things which I may not disclose to you, but I am not the only one with the answers, Harry.’

‘Well… Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?’

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

‘Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day… put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older… I know you hate to hear this… when you are ready, you will know.’

And Harry knew it would be no good to argue.

‘But why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?’

‘Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realize that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign… to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.’

Dumbledore now became very interested in a bird out on the windowsill, which gave Harry time to dry his eyes on the sheet. When he had found his voice again, Harry said, ‘And the Invisibility Cloak—will it taken from me now that you know?”

‘Ah—your father and his friends used it mainly for stealing food and causing trouble, and I ought to confiscate it.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Professor Snape certainly would if he knew … but he doesn’t.’

‘And there’s something else…about Snape—‘

‘Professor Snape, Harry.’

‘Yes, him—Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?’

‘Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Malfoy. And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive.’

‘What?’

‘He saved his life.’

‘What?’

‘Yes…’ said Dumbledore dreamily. ‘Funny, the way people’s minds work, isn’t it? Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt… I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father’s memory in peace…’

Harry tried to understand this but it made his head pound, so he stopped.

‘And sir, there’s one more thing…’

‘Just the one?’

‘How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?’

‘Ah, now, I’m glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that’s saying something. You see, only one who wanted to find the Stone—find it, but not use it—would be able to get it, otherwise they’d just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes… Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one, and since then I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my liking for them—but I think I’ll be safe with a nice toffee, don’t you?’

He smiled and popped the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he choked and said, ‘Alas! Ear wax!’

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict.

‘Just five minutes,’ Harry pleaded.

‘Absolutely not.’

‘You let Professor Dumbledore in…’

‘Well, of course, that was the headmaster, quite different. You need rest.’

‘I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey…’

‘Oh, very well,’ she said. ‘But five minutes only.’

And she let Hermione, Daphne and the boys in.

‘Harry!’

Hermione looked ready to fling her arms around him again, but Harry was glad she held herself in as his head was still very sore.

‘Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to—Dumbledore was so worried—‘

‘The whole school’s talking about it,’ said Ron. ‘What really happened?’

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumors. Harry told them everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were a very good audience; they gasped in all the right places, and when Harry told them what was under Quirrell’s turban, Hermione screamed out loud.

‘So the Stone’s gone?’ said Blaise finally. ‘Flamel’s just going to die?’

‘That’s what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that—what was it?—‘to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.’’

‘I always said he was off his rocker,’ said Ron, looking quite impressed at how crazy his hero was.

‘So what happened to you two?’ said Harry.

‘Well, I got back all right,’ said Daphne. ‘I brought Ron round—that took a while—and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall—he already knew—he just said, ‘Harry’s gone after him, hasn’t he?’ and hurtled off to the third floor.’

‘D’you think he meant you to do it?’ said Ron. 

‘Well,’ Daphne exploded, ‘if he did—I mean to say—that’s terrible—you could have been killed. That must be illegal!’

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Harry thoughtfully. ‘He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could…’

‘Yeah, Dumbledore’s off his rocker, all right,’ said Blaise proudly. ‘Listen, you’ve got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin ended up second—you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you—but the food’ll be good.’

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

‘You’ve had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT,’ she said firmly.

Sirius and Remus sneaked into the infirmary, careful not to draw the attention of Madam Pomfrey who was sat in her office. They’d had years of practice, visiting each other and James after countless accidents, yet somehow she sensed their presence and cast them out after half an hour. But they reassured Harry that it was only a couple of days until he could come home for the summer.

After a good night’s sleep, Harry felt nearly back to normal.

‘I want to go to the feast,’ he told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened his many candy boxes. ‘I can, can’t I?’

‘Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go,’ she said sniffily, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn’t realize how risky feasts could be. ‘And you have another visitor.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Harry. ‘Who is it?’

Hagrid sidled through the door as he spoke. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry, took one look at him, and burst into tears.

‘It’s—all—my—ruddy—fault!’ he sobbed, his face in his hands. ‘I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn’t know, an’ I told him! Yeh could’ve died! All fer a dragon egg! I’ll never drink again! I should be chucked out an’ made ter live as a Muggle!’

‘Hagrid!’ said Harry, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard. ‘Hagrid, he’d have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we’re talking about, he’d have found out even if you hadn’t told him.’

‘Yeh could’ve died!’ sobbed Hagrid. ‘An’ don’ say the name!’

‘VOLDEMORT!’ Harry bellowed, and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying. ‘I’ve met him and I’m calling him by his name. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it’s gone, he can’t use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I’ve got loads…’

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, ‘That reminds me. I’ve got yeh a present.’

‘It’s not a stoat sandwich, is it?’ said Harry anxiously, and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle.

‘Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. ’Course, he shoulda sacked me instead—anyway, got yeh this…’

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father.

‘Sent owls off ter all yer parents’ old school friends, askin’ fer photos… knew yeh didn’ have any… d’yeh like it? Sirius and Remus helped, of course.’

Harry couldn’t speak, but Hagrid understood.

Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. He had been held up by Madam Pomfrey’s fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Ravenclaw colors of blue and bronze to celebrate Ravenclaw’s winning the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Ravenclaw eagle covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Harry walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat between Daphne and Blaise at the Slytherin table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

‘Another year gone!’ Dumbledore said cheerfully. ‘And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts. Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; in third, Slytherin has three hundred and eighty-six; Gryffindor, with four hundred and four points and Ravenclaw, four hundred and fifty-three.”

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Ravenclaw table. Harry could see Hermione celebrating half-heartedly with her friend Padma Patil. 

‘Yes, yes, well done, Ravenclaw,’ said Dumbledore. ‘However, recent events must be taken into account.’

The room went very still. The Ravenclaws’ smiles faded a little.

‘Ahem,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes… First—to Mr. Ronald Weasley…’

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

‘…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.’

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, ‘My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall’s giant chess set!’

At last there was silence again.

‘Second—to Miss Daphne Greengrass… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Slytherin House fifty points.’

Daphne gasped before a wide grin filled her face; Harry strongly suspected she might burst into tears. Slytherins up and down the table were beside themselves— there was only seventeen points between them and Ravenclaw.

‘Third—to Mr. Harry Potter…’ said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. ‘…for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Slytherin House sixty points.’

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Slytherin now had four hundred and ninety-six points—more than Ravenclaw. Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Slytherin table. Harry, Blaise, and Daphne stood up to yell and cheer as Draco, white with shock, disappeared into the crowd of celebration. He had lost Slytherin twenty points, and here was Potter taking the victory.

‘Which means,’ Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, ‘we need a little change of decoration.’

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the blue hangings became green and the bronze became silver; the huge Ravenclaw eagle vanished and a towering Slytherin snake took its place. Snape was shaking Professor Flitwick’s hand, with a broad, almost genuine grin. He caught Harry’s eye and Harry knew at once that Snape’s feelings toward him hadn’t changed one jot. This didn’t worry Harry. It seemed as though life would be back to normal next year, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.

It was the best evening of Harry’s life, better than winning at Quidditch, or Christmas, or knocking out mountain trolls… he would never, ever forget tonight.

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, he, Blaise, and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione and Daphne, of course, had the best grades of the first years with Hermione just getting the edge though Daphne refused to begrudge her for it. Even Neville Longbottom scraped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you couldn’t have everything in life.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville’s toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays (“I always hope they’ll forget to give us these,” said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King’s Cross station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn’t attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

‘You must come and stay this summer,’ said Ron, ‘all of you—I’ll send you an owl.’

‘Thanks,’ said Harry, ‘I’ll let you know soon!’

People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:

‘Bye, Harry!’

‘See you, Potter!’

‘Still famous,’ said Ron, grinning at him.

‘Back to being normal for a few weeks,’ said Harry.

He, Ron, and Hermione passed through the gateway together, Blaise and Daphne meeting their families on the platform.

‘There he is, Mom, there he is, look!’

It was Ginny Weasley, Ron’s younger sister, but she wasn’t pointing at Ron.

‘Harry Potter!’ she squealed. ‘Look, Mom! I can see—‘

‘Be quiet, Ginny, and it’s rude to point.’

Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them.

‘Busy year?’ she said.

‘Very,’ said Harry. ‘Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley.’

‘Oh, it was nothing, dear.’

‘You ready to go, pup?’

It was Sirius, rosy-cheeked, still mustached, still grinning broadly at Harry, taking Hedwig’s cage from him. Behind him stood Remus, looking cheerful at the mere sight of Harry.

‘Honestly, Sirius. I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!’ said Mrs. Weasley.

‘You know how it works, Molly. We couldn’t tell anyone.’ said Sirius. ‘We’d best get going! I’ll see you in the autumn!’ He walked away.

Harry hung back for a last word with Ron and Hermione.

‘See you over the summer, then.’

‘Hope you have a good holiday,’ said Hermione happily.

‘Oh, I will,’ said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face. ‘It’s going to be nice not to be the boy who lived, for a little while, at least.’


End file.
